The Bounty Hunters Of Paris
by KatsuraKotaro
Summary: New heights of silliness are attained by four mismatched Les Mis favourites; Javert, Eponine, Fantine and Courfeyrac. Follow their escapades through the curious world of Parisian bounty hunting, sprinkled liberally with references to other fandoms.
1. An Inspector's Apprentice

The Bounty Hunters Of Paris  
  
Part One - An Inspector's Apprentice  
  
Paris. An unusual scene is happening at the waters edge. A strange figure is pulling itself out of the river, the many layers of clothing dripping with Seine water. Standing upright, it seems like an imposing, tall man. In the dim light of the stars, the large, silver buttons on his long coat glint malevolently. Nobody else is around as far as he can see ... the fall of the people's rebellion has left the Parisians in shock. While the carnage and the barricades are being cleared up, the public remain locked away in their houses after dark (this is also to escape being volunteered for the clean-up job of a bloody revolt - not the most pleasant of things to do). It almost seems like a ghost city.  
  
Paris. The setting of unexplainable events. Where those who have fallen are at this moment rising again ...  
  
Inspector Javert's idle footsteps echoed throughout the desolate street. This wide, cobbled road had opened up from a narrow alleyway that had seemed to go on for miles. He had nearly tripped and fallen a number of times in his efforts to walk in a dignified manner, his back seeming to not want to straighten up properly. He tried to keep on the pavement, but his aching legs kept leading him into the gutter. However, his determination to remain respectable made him steer them back towards the houses that lined the street. As he approached the halfway point along the avenue, his ears detected a hoarse plea;  
  
"Mmph?! Mmph mmph mmph." he heard. Indistinguishable though it may have been, he surprised himself by stopping and looking down at his feet. What he saw surprised him even more. A girl of sixteen was lying face down on the sidewalk. From this, Javert imagined that she had crawled from a nearby location and finally collapsed here. He then realised that he had accidently kicked her, thereby causing the "Mmphs". He took a step back, watching her face turn towards him.  
  
"Why'd you kick me? Can't you see -" she stopped in mid-sentence, her eyes widening. They both recognised each other at the same time.  
  
"You!" they exclaimed simultaneously. The girl, unafraid of the looming Inspector, stretched out a small, bony hand to him. Javert looked at it as he might a television remote, and stayed rigid to the spot (bear in mind that television remotes had not yet been invented).  
  
"So, Eponine Thenardier, you have come to do this in the middle of night now? I suppose I'll have to take you -" It occured to him that by commiting suicide, he had lost his job. He was no longer in the police force ... this realisation appalled him.  
  
"Ugh ..." his stern voice faltered. Eponine frowned, although it was difficult to tell in the limited light.  
  
"Well, are you gonna help me up, or do I have to get up myself?" she asked impatiently. She didn't receive an answer. Javert's shoulders had drooped, and he had listened but had not heard her. Groaning, Eponine dragged her tired body towards him, wrapped her arms around his lower legs, and then proceeded to use him to pull herself up. She had managed to get to a kneeling position when he noticed what she was doing.  
  
"Hey!" he started.  
  
"This is taking a lot more effort than it should do ..." she grumbled, looking up at his face as a hint. Sighing, he pulled her up to her feet. Eponine grinned.  
  
"Thanks." she said with semi-gratitude. Javert suddenly took off down the street again, without warning. Eponine ran to catch up with him.  
  
"Where are you going? Can I come?" she asked breathlessly.  
  
"If you like." he said quietly. So, together, the odd pair made their way to the nearest police station ... about thirty streets away.  
  
By the water, ignoring the threatening gust that influenced the inferno of swirling current in the river, two figures sat with their fishing rods, their legs dangling over the ledge they were sitting on. It was an unusual hobby, fishing in the dead of night in the River Seine, but it wasn't necessarily fish that the two men were after. It was also strange to see people out and about at that time, and the majority of Parisians put it down to either valiance or stupidity.  
  
"Hey, Emile, did you just see somethin' over there?" one of them said presently, squinting to the far bank of the river. Emile looked, but only saw the black of the river, the quayside and the high wall in front of the Quai de la Megisserie, all merged into one.  
  
"Nah." he said, re-adjusting his position on the cobbled ground, "There isn't anything out there, Delanoe. Just keep fishing."  
  
"But I know I saw somethin'! Oh, oh, look - there it is again - it's a man!" Emile rolled his eyes, toying with the idea of pushing his companion into the river and having done with it. But then he might accidently fish him out again ...  
  
"Oh my ... he's a tall fella, ya know ... nice coat, mind you ..." Delanoe continued, straining to observe the man more closely.  
  
"There isn't any tall man with a nice coat, so shut up!" Emile cried out, dropping his make-shift rod.  
  
"Oh ..." Delanoe said quietly.  
  
"What?!"  
  
"Got a bite."  
  
Javert arrived at the post half an hour later with Eponine trailing behind him, whimpering like a young child. There was no-one there, so they took full advantage of the blazing fireplace inside. Both of them felt weary, confused, and unnaturally cold, chilled to the inner-most core. Javert sat in the comfortable chair at the side of the fire, while Eponine was quite content to sit on the floor in front of it. Neither spoke for a while. They were both staring at the odd ornaments on the mantel-piece; two figures were in positions that Eponine had no idea about, and that Javert considered as unnecessary (needless to say, they were both virgins). It was also taking them an awfully long time to recover from that forbidding, inauspicious place. At length, Eponine spoke.  
  
"Were you there too?"  
  
Javert lowered his head.  
  
"Yes."  
  
"How did you get there? Were you killed?"  
  
"... no." he croaked. Eponine swivelled around to face him. Both knew how ridiculous their conversation must have sounded, but it all was the honest truth. Javert began to speak, staring vacantly into the flames.  
  
"That place we went to ... I have no doubt was ... hell. I know that I was dead, but I have served the law and righteousness all my life. It makes no sense. Why was I there?" Eponine smiled.  
  
"Ahh, but that never got anyone anywhere. The righteous stuff and obeying the law you did. All that and you are still considered as the bad-guy. You were only seen as a good-guy in that crappy sequel, Illusions of Time or whatever it's called. I don't think I'm in it, mind. If they could resurrect you, why not me? Eh-hem. So how did you die, anyway?" Eponine asked, ignoring the rhetorical question, her voice obscured with awe and curiosity.  
  
"Well, I ... drowned in the river. Yes yes, deliberately. Don't look at me like that. I had my reasons." He leaned forward in his chair, placing his hands on his cheeks, and resting his elbows on his knees. Yes, it had been a shame that he couldn't find a harness at the time, or that no friendly citizen had stepped in to talk him out of it. Then again, judging by the fact that most of the citizens were fairly poor, they probably would have simply ran off, taking his hat that he had set on the parapet with them.  
  
"24601 ... he drove me to it. He had let me go ... given me my life. I couldn't stand it. There was no way to carry on." He spoke as if she wasn't there. Despite this, Eponine listened intently, taking in every detail, his words, his emotions, everything. He fascinated her, quite unexplainably. When he had finished speaking, his eyes automatically focused on her.  
  
"And you?" he said, almost as a strict order. Eponine cleared her hoarse throat, putting a hand to her neck.  
  
"I was shot in the revolt. I was only delivering a message and all. The unfairness, I tell you. Then, when I was bleeding to death, he came and took the pain away. Oh, I was so happy to die in his arms! But, I wasn't happy to die, if you get what I mean. Yes, and then I was engulfed in that place ... hell. I am as perplexed as you are." she explained, matter-of- factly, pleased with herself at using such a word as 'perplexed'. Javert nodded. This girl didn't seem so bad. Even though she was poor and had unfortunate relations, she seemed to have some sense in her. And brain cells, perhaps. She could prove useful, he thought, if I can just get my job back. My job! He sat upright, his mouth forming an 'o'. Eponine perked up.  
  
"What is it?"  
  
Javert bolted out of the chair, causing it to tumble over. He swiftly grabbed Eponine's skeletal arm and pulled her to the door. He opened it, and both of them plunged into the freezing outdoors.  
  
The next day, Javert faced the Prefect, his hat in his hands, his head down as a sign of respect. Well, actually, it was not the Prefect. Well, alright it was, but he was new and so very inexperienced in Javert's eyes. Not to mention the fact that he disagreed with just about everything that Javert said. He was about eighty years old, hard-of-hearing, and was, to say the least, eccentric. His name, by the way, was M. Henri-Joseph Gisquet (yes, I have read the book. So there).  
  
"So, Inspector January, what is it you want?" the old man asked. Javert made a face at the floor.  
  
"Well, sir, I would draw your attention to the note I left for you last night, well, umm, I didn't actually mean what I said ... wrote ..."  
  
The Prefect nodded his head ardently (or something that looked ardent - he did, after all, have a stiff neck).  
  
"Damn right, Inspector Javelin." he said, "What was it you said about Mme. Henry? That she shouldn't be allowed to be at the entrance to the doo-dah, prison, or whatever, or as an employee at a prison, just because she is a woman? Pure fiddle-faddle."  
  
"But, sir -"  
  
"Poppy-cock."  
  
"Sir -"  
  
"Juvenile-delinquent-acy."  
  
"... what?"  
  
"Listen, Inspector Jamsandwich." the Prefect said, clutching onto the arm- rests of his chair and lifting himself to his feet (this took some time), "I'm going to be Frank. Or Francis, or whatever. You know, I sent you on that political mission for a reason. The truth is, I don't like you."  
  
Javert blinked.  
  
"Pardon, sir?"  
  
"Oh, listen for heaven's sake, man. I don't like your backward manner, your authoritative tone, your sideburns. I hate the lot of it. Yes, I sent you to the barricades because I wanted you to get captured and shot."  
  
"What??!"  
  
"Nothing personal, you see. It's just been so nice here for the past few days, I mean, without you moping around all the time like some home-sick puppy. We've actually been able to get some proper work done around here, you know, with all the lovely peace and quiet. It's really hit home how much we all despise you around here."  
  
Javert was dumb-struck. He began to mimic a goldfish.  
  
"Stop gawping and opening and closing your mouth, Inspector J-cloth. Oooh, but I was so awfully glad when I heard that you'd resigned then killed yourself ... made my day, it did. But now" he sighed, "I'm all depressed again."  
  
"Look." Javert said, "I am here to get my job back. Also, I have a proposition - well, it's ridiculous really - to nominate a new employee."  
  
The Prefect sat back down again.  
  
"Who?" Eponine came in, her boots trailing in mud behind her.  
  
"Hallo." she said.  
  
The Prefect clapped his hands together.  
  
"Well," he said gleefully, "I wish you had said that it was a young lady. We need more women on the force. And all this time I had the distinct impression that you were a sexist pig."  
  
Javert chose to ignore that comment.  
  
"May I have my job back, sir?" he asked impatiently.  
  
"Oh, good heavens no. But the young lady is more than welcome to fill the position instead."  
  
"Out of the question!" Javert growled, clenching his fists. "If I'm not allowed my job back, then she isn't allowed to join up!"  
  
"Fine fine, suit yourself." said the Prefect, disappointment apparant in his voice. Javert began to usher Eponine out of the door, but the Prefect called to him as he was half-way out of the door.  
  
"Oh, and Inspector Jiffybag, I must mention that we cleared out your drawer and gave everything in it to the poor. Sorry about that, old chap."  
  
"So what do we do now?" Eponine asked when they were outside. Javert looked up at the sky, and a strange thought occured to him. He had thought of a profession, one very similar to police-work except a little more stylish, which unfortunately was not his way of doing things. But it was the only thing he could think of.  
  
"Let's be bounty hunters." he said.  
  
*  
  
They walked side by side, this new pair of bounty hunters, with people scurrying out of the way at all angles as they approached. Javert certainly was well-known for being an extremely stern authority figure, and Eponine was quite a mystery to the neighbours. Who is she? they wondered, then stopped wondering as Javert gave them a menacing look that said: I know what you're thinking. Just don't, alright?  
  
These people probably would have recognised Eponine if she had not been merely transformed from the emaciated street-urchin to a respectable young lady in a matter of weeks. She thing she liked best about her new look (aided by Javert's now declining bank-balance) was, she decided, the socks. She hadn't had a decent pair of socks (decent meaning any) since she was about seven years old. Nearly a decade later, she was extremely thankful for them.  
  
"I don't care if I'm no longer with the police. I'm still going to imprison 24601 if it's the last thing I do." Javert said to her as they strolled along, then realising that it very well could have been, if he had first imprisoned Valjean and then jumped into the river. Oh drat, he thought.  
  
"Who's 24601?" Eponine asked, blinking. Instead of launching into a lengthy drawn-out story about his and Valjean's past, Javert launched into a very, very lengthy drawn-out, descriptive story about his and Valjean's past (with a lack of full-stops);  
  
"Well it all started when he, Jean Valjean, stole some bread, a criminal offence of a high order I'll have you know, and was imprisoned for twenty odd years, he kept on trying to escape you see, and I knew him back then because I was a prison guard in my younger days, so when he was let out on parole I was still very suspicious of him, he ended up stealing a bishop's possessions, I knew I was right to be suspicious, but then he changed his name and became mayor of a town where I was sent to work in, and he harboured some whore called Fantine, whom I had previously arrested for assulting a gentleman, in his house, and I found out who he really was and confronted him, I said 'Well, are you coming?' and he said 'Give me three days to fetch the woman's child" and I said "You're joking, not on your life" so he hit me against the wall, bloody well hurt it did, and ran away, conincidently the woman died, not my fault, but the next thing I heard was that he had taken her child off your parents and moved to Paris where I had an inkling all along that he'd be, and on a side-track I had to go undercover behind the barricades but I was apprehended and they tied me up, very inconsiderate of them to tie me to a pillar, so I asked them politely to put me on a table, my legs were really aching at that point, so they did but then I saw that Valjean had also joined with those boisterous rebels and they told him to take me outside to shoot me dead, and I thought fine, I don't care anymore, but when we got outside he got out a knife instead, yes, a knife, cut me loose and let me go, but I wasn't having that, I caught him and was going to take him off to prison when I had this great idea to commit suicide and so I did, and now I'm standing out here with you hoping to imprison the thief once and for all so I can go home and rest my poor aching head and perhaps order some more snuff." he said. Eponine, out of habit, blinked again.  
  
"Oh." she said. While Javert tried to get his breath back, two men who were standing in the alleyway four metres away grinned at each other.  
  
"Oooh, Emile, did you hear that story ..."  
  
"It was bloody marvellous, Delanoe."  
  
"Such a good imagination he's got, such an original tale ..."  
  
"Got a good story-telling voice, too."  
  
"Yeah, he didn't pause for a second -"  
  
"No no, it's because he's got a wossname, baritone voice."  
  
"What's that then?"  
  
"You know, all deep and stuff, something like that anyway, I can't really explain it ..."  
  
Javert and Eponine had been listening to all this, and she could see the hot anger bubbling up from the soles of his boots to far beyond the reaches of his hat. It probably got high enough to give the cloud that passed over at that moment heat-stoke. Javert did a quick 180 degree (he was that precise) spin to face the two aggravators, who cowered. Delanoe was a tall young man, but not as tall as the Inspector. More like a tall, gawky youth than a tall, broad-shouldered man-of-experience like Javert  
  
"Enjoy my life story that much, did you?" he growled. Emile and Delanoe yelped and ran away, down the alley.  
  
"Whoa, that scary stuff might come in handy one day." Eponine murmured. Javert turned back to her.  
  
"What was that?" he said.  
  
"Nothing ... hey, so should we start to look for this Valjean guy, then?" she asked, changing the subject dramatically.  
  
"Yes." Javert said, but somehow, he got the impression that Valjean would be the least of his problems in the upcoming few weeks. 


	2. Snuff Said

The Bounty Hunters Of Paris

Part Two - 'Snuff Said

* * *

"Here, this can be our Headquarters." Javert called behind him, as he ducked under a low ceiling above the stairs to his basement. Eponine followed him down, and squinted into the melancholic gloom.

"It's lovely." she said. Javert smiled triumphantly.

"I knew you'd like it. It has that certain indecent, smutty underworld feeling to it, does it not?" he said. It was, therefore, a conventional policeman's basement. Eponine stepped suspiciously around the piles of 'Policeman's Weekly' and 'The Official Cop Magazine', numerous tins of night-stick polish, and a curious collection of great-coats discarded on the floor.

"You're not the most tidiest of people, are you?" she said, plopping down on a random red sofa. Javert glared at her.

"So even my basement has to be pristine, does it?" he snapped. Eponine shrugged and could not contain a smile.

"No, but I never imagined it would be so ... unorderly." she said, choosing her wording carefully. Seeing the expression on his face, she shut up.

"You're such a nice girl, aren't you?" Javert said sarcastically, "Always complimenting everything ..."

"And you're so damn rude, for such an authoritative man, aren't you?" she said back. They glared at each other for a couple of minutes. Eponine, not quite as accustomed to staring-matches as he was, broke first.

"Ahhh." she said, "Let's just stop arguing and start doing some bounty hunter stuff."

"Alright." Javert said, and busied himself with a box on the floor, his back turned from Eponine. She looked around. She looked at her feet. She looked at Javert.

"What is it that bounty hunters do?" she asked. Javert smiled to himself. She has no idea, he thought. What a simpleton.

* * *

Twenty Minutes (excluding toilet breaks) later

Eponine sniffed.

"So the names will be in the newspapers then?" she asked, glancing at the police magazines that were dotted around the room.

"Precisely." Javert smiled. Satisfied that his partner was now up-to-speed on the job of bounty hunting, he ceased to pace the length of the basement and settled in a dusty antediluvian armchair. In other words, it was very old.

"I expect I'll know some people on the wanted list." Eponine said, thinking of her father and his gang. Then again, even she may be. Fine, so she'd never hurt anyone (badly) ... or stole anything (very expensive). The only reason why she and Javert knew each other was because he had 'picked her up' a few times after her father had done some particularly dodgy dealing. Unfortunately for her, Eponine had always seemed to get involved, and was the one who always got caught. Even Azelma, her younger, shyer sister didn't get caught as often as she did. It was with a soft bitterness that Eponine considered this fact, and put it down to a bad horoscope. She had had her palm read once, at a fair in Montfermeil, her home-town. An old lady with the smell of ravioli and coal-dust about her had grabbed her arm, and pulled her into a dingy little tent on the boundry of the fair area. She had looked at her hand, had a cup of tea, looked at the reminants of the tea thoughtfully, and then dealt out some cards with nice pictures on. Eponine vividly remembered the screech of horror emitted by a certain card. It had Death on it, but the worst thing was the lady's stern reactions to the cards which followed. She had told the girl that things were to change for the worst, in fact, her circumstances were to become dire and her life was going to be nightmare-ish. The gypsy woman had been completely right, and Eponine had been moved from a happy tavern to a depressing back-room. As she pondered these events, she realised that in looks, Javert reminded her somewhat of that gypsy. It was specifically something about his eyes, for the woman had had the same grey, compelling look as Javert did. She was also quite tall, from what Eponine could tell from her hunched posture, and stocky. Eponine had never met anyone as tall as Javert before, and, although it was difficult to tell under all those layers of clothes, he appeared slightly bulky. But it couldn't possibly be.

'Nah, he can't be a gypsy.' she thought, 'How bizarre that would be.' Disturbed from her thoughts, she noticed that Javert was busy digging into his coat pockets.

"What are you doing? What's the matter?" she asked, sitting upright.

"Where is it, where is it??" Javert said rapidly, digging madly inside his pockets. His snuff box was missing, and from what Eponine could see, it mattered a lot. Eponine had never tried snuff, and to be honest would never be seen dead with that sort of stuff, but that just showed how different she and Javert were; he wanted to be buried with it.

"It had my last bit of snuff in it!" he cried, and began to look inside Eponine's pockets.

"I don't have it." she said. "I think you've well and truly lost it. In the river when you jumped in, I'll bet." Javert sat on the floor, defeated.

"Then ... it's long gone." he whispered. He got up, and slowly climbed the stairs.

"Where are you going?" Eponine called to him. "I need to be alone."

* * *

Javert had never, since the age of thirty, been without his snuff. The box in which he kept the substance, was bought nearly ten years prior to the events explained herein, in a dingy antiques shop in Montreuil-Sur-Mere when Jean Valjean had been the mayor. The snuff had previously been contained in a match-box, and by the time Javert had grown all worldly, he decided that it was time splash out on a better quality box for his beloved snuff. The reason why snuff was kept in opaque containers was because nobody knew what it actually looked like, and so the utilisers of it promised to retain this mystery for as long as possible. Now, at fifty-two, Javert was an addict, even though he only used it on special occasions. It could have been said that he was more addicted to the knowledge of it being in his pocket at all times, and the feel of the box under the thick material of his great-coat. The snuff-box itself was gleaming silver, polished vigourously twice a day, with a vine-pattern on both sides. It opened delightfully, by sliding a panel across the top and exposing the inside. Then all you had to do is sniff, and then dab your nose with a hanky. Not rocket science, but then again the higher people of society did not want complications in their normal (cough) tasks.

The fact was, after the fall of the barricades of the student (and everyone else who could be bothered) rebellion, the police feared that it may, judging from past experiences of the French under-classes, happen again. They were also particularly worried about street gangs, thieves and murderers getting up to "no good", and so had to devise a scheme to keep them under control. The solution for the students was to send many on a nice happy trip to a different university, preferable out of Paris or indeed out of France itself. For the remaining few, they were guaranteed better quality food in the campus cafeterias, and more comfortable pillows to prevent crankiness, an unfortunate condition that many suffered from on those early mornings. Surprisingly, these terms worked to great effect for a good couple of months. Then they began complain about the government again, and the plan had failed. But more of that later.

And yet, as anyone would know, the greatest fear and prime concern of all policemen is the undefined amount of little people on the streets, in the sewers, behind your house, in the nineteenth century air-vents of government buildings, and even in the very air itself; the gamin. Many a gendarme has come a-cropper from the shockingly accurate little feet of a pesky gamin, and been to traumatised to even tell his mother (yes, an astonishing number of gendarme live with their mothers. Lived. Whatever). Occasionally, a gamin will get captured by an elated pair of policemen and be dragged to the Prefect laughing his head off.

The Prefect always asks, "Why the devil are you laughing, gamin?", to which the petite scoundrel replies, "'Cuz I'm sooooo gunna escape." This provokes anger in most Prefects, who then sends the gamin away, only to wake up the next morning minus his wife, children, and most importantly, his cheese supply. A few see good humour and lets him share his special Prefect biscuits, and the sensible minority free him instantly in terror of the consequences of jailing him. It only goes to show what little people can do.

The scores of angry students, gangs of robbers and the gamin all became a larger threat at the time of this story, because the city had appeared to have lost its will to fight and communicate - it had been worn down over those few, eventful days of the barricades. Nobody could or felt the need to defend themselves or their property, and the underlings of Paris were thriving off this lack of competition. Even the ones in prison were rubbing their palms together excitedly, imagining all the goods that they could steal when they got out, whilst drooling from the thought. So what were the authorities to do? To be honest, they were fed up with the insufficient support from the public. It was all up to them, and the police force had not had a good run up until then. And then, on the tenth of June 1832, a young secretary of the Law Minister called Louis Petain, made a seemingly insignificant suggestion.

"Why don't you come up with a scheme to involve the people of Paris? You know, like encourage them to capture criminals in return for decent rewards?" he said, pouring the Minister a cup of coffee, "That would make everyone happy." he added with a smile. The Minister, after a few seconds deliberation, leapt up in the air.

"Eureka!" he cried.

"Bless you." said the secretary, pulling out a handkerchief.

"That's it, Petain! Rewards! Or bounties, yes, that's a good name."

"It would be nice if you called me Louis ..."

"I must inform the Prefect of Police immediately!"

"... I'd feel more at home ..."

"Write the proposition down and send it to the Prefect instantly!" the Minister said. Henri-Joseph Gisquet, when he recieved the letter, clutched his chest.

"Oh my heart." he murmured, "This is fantastic news." And so, the next day, all the newspapers were advertising bounties of all the common criminals that the Prefect could think of, while the Minister's secretary was brought to Gisquet's office and was honoured with the duty of assigning special alias's to the outlaws. Some were understandable, some were relevant, some were a little odd, and some were down-right bizarre. From 'Joking Johnny' to 'The Unleashed One', from 'Metal Man' to 'Lily- Pad', they've had them all (except names like simply 'Thief' - not inventive enough). Apparantly, after doing some background research on the events of the barricades in that June, the secretary was greatly inspired to make the students' alias's as interesting and beautiful as possible. Where else would he have gotten the inclination to name some 'Angel Eyes', 'The Poet' or even 'R'? Petain had done his research thoroughly indeed, and he was determined to make a decent career from this work (hence the unnecessary effort on his part).

So became the new craze of 'Bounty Hunting' in Paris, and it was popular within a few days of having been concieved. Now, I say popular, but this meant about twenty people. Twenty bounty hunters. But, as Petain thought to himself some time later, it helped a little.

* * *

No sooner had Javert got outside, than a voice called out to him.

"Hey, haven't I seen you somewhere before?" a fairly good-looking young man said, hopping from one foot to the other.

"Probably." said Javert. The young man chewed on his lip.

"On a black box with pictures on it ... wait a minute ... it's coming ... you mentioned something about stars, and voids, and attacking you from the right. But then I saw you as a Columbian drug-baron, no, it wasn't, it was something like that, somewhere in the north Pacific, no, south Pacific." Javert grimaced. Not this again.

"No, that wasn't me. That was the Tenth Anniversary Concert of Les Miserables on VHS. It's some guy who dresses up like me sometimes and sings. I," he said proudly, "never sing." The young man, obviously the excitable type, thought again before jumping around once more.

"No, really I have, only I saw you another time actually on stage as yourself, you know, but you sounded a bit different and went on about schoolboys, a yellow ticket of leave, garbage on the street and Lucifer falling as well, I think. And then I saw you with that woman from the X- files ..."

"That was another guy who dressed up as me and sang." Javert insisted. "But really, I hate singing. Can't stand it." The young man continued to eye him up. Javert did so too, and noticed that he was wearing a dog-tag of sorts, but gold, under his shirt. He could only see an 'M', supposedly the first letter of his name.

"Are you sure you weren't any of those guys?" the young man asked.

"Positive."

"Hmm." the young man said, then trotted off, singing something that sounded like "I'm gonna wash that man right outta my hair." Javert, when he was out of ear-shot, began to whimper. He badly needed his snuff now.

* * *

At about midnight, Emile and Delanoe had resumed their nightly habit once more. They sat in their usual spot by the Seine so that they gazed over to the Quai de la Megisserie. Emile was in a bad mood, his rod having snapped in the water on this windy night. He had his legs and arms crossed, glowering at Delanoe.

"I'm telling you, that Inspector guy, I've seen him before." he was saying.

"Before when?" Delanoe said, navigating his rod away from the gusts which swept across the water.

"Before you know ... before, you know." Emile said, referring to some unmentionable event.

"What, when we di ..." began Delanoe, who then suddenly jumped up in delight.

"I got something, I got something!" he screamed joyfully. As the end of the line fell in his hand, so did his catch. A small, silver box.


	3. We're All Just Phoenixes From The Flames

The Bounty Hunters Of Paris

Part Three - We're All Just Phoenixes From The Flames

Enjolras found that his head was hurting quite a lot. Very much so indeed.

"That's funny." he said, or thought he was saying, "If I'm dead, then why am I feeling pain?" It was true that Enjolras had been dead, but, like so many other people in this story, not for long. He was in a bar, the bar which had been the base of the rebellion. He was lying on the floor, his arm draped majestically over a stool. He looked up, and saw a leg dangling over the bar.

'What a strange position I'm in.' he thought, now realising that he was, in fact, alive. The leg above him twitched. Judging by the pure white socks, the turned-up trousers and polished, sensible shoes, it was Combeferre. Enjolras, hearing other stirring movements around him, stood up. He was surrounded by his comrades, muttering and groaning, just as they had been days ago, at the barricades. Enjolras leapt over to the window. Nothing was in the street. No reminants of those events lingered outside, as if the students had never fought, as if it all had never happened.

"Enjolras? What the #?! am I doing alive?" asked a familiar grunt.

"I don't know Grantaire. But it sure is creepy." the handsome blonde replied.

"Where's my booze? I need a beer, quick!" Grantaire whined. Yup, it was the same old same old. Shame, Enjolras thought. Combeferre, by now, had gotten to his feet too and was in the process of tutting at the lack of creases in his trousers.

"Gosh, this is weird. Is everyone here?" he said. He counted all his immediate friends except Marius, Courfeyrac, Feuilly and Joly.

"Where on earth could they be? If only we had some way of communicating -"

"Outta my way, dork!" Grantaire cried, pushing Combeferre out of the way. This was because, Enjolras observed, he was blocking a full bottle of brandy sitting on the bar. Combeferre readjusted his glasses.

"He's at it again." he said, over the loud 'glug glugs' coming from the bar, "Death did not change him at all."

"Well, I expect he tried." Jean Provaire shrugged. Enjolras, sensing the disturbance of the time and space continuum in the air, decided to address his comrades in order to make sense of it all himself.

"My friends," he began uncertainly, "We appear to have a situation ..."

* * *

Javert and Eponine set off on their first big day as bounty hunters. The plan was to find a newspaper, pick a bounty and locate the target. Although this brilliant scheme was simple enough, Eponine was not entirely convinced that they had the necessary skills/equipment to tackle it. She thought that it took years of training to become a master of martial arts, completely survival trained and a nifty user of guns and any weapon you could lay your hands on (like coathangers, or even pot-lids - do not underestimate the usefulness of these items on the field of battle). Obviously with Javert it took five minutes at a newspaper-stand to find a name, and you were on your way. Along this particular street, the odd pair passed various stalls, all belonging to the daily market which had spilled from the next road into this one. There were also the obligitary French cafés and eccentric shops which permenantly resided here, provided the francs rolled in. On the opposite side to Javert and Eponine, there was a ramshackle butchers shop, paint peeling away from the walls like cows and pigs running from ... well, a butchers shop. The butcher himself shook his fist at them from across the street, leering from his shop's doorway.

"Yer father owes me big-time, Miss Thenardier! Ya 'ear me? Big-time!!" he shouted. Eponine covered up her ears, shaking her head.

"I wish I'd never been born in the first place, let alone brought back to life." she muttered. She and Javert took shelter in a news-stall from the oncoming rain-storm. The news-stall man eyed them warily. Javert, meanwhile, scanned through the newspapers.

"We need to find some crimes and bounties on the suspects." he said, picking up and flicking through 'The Paris Pamphlet'. Eponine, instead of assisting him, examined at her finger-nails like mutant guinea pigs in a laboratory - very interesting, basically.

"Yeah, sure." she said.

"Ooh ooh ooh!" Javert exclaimed, "Murders! Perfect!"

"What?" Javert pointed to the relevant article in the newpaper and began to read it aloud.

"Listen." he said, almost excitedly, "Three murdered prostitutes have been discovered this week, all killed in the same way by strangulation with ... sausages." They looked at each other with the same, pouted, confused expression.

"How do you kill someone with sausages?" Eponine said.

"Ahh, well." Javert said knowingly, "You obviously haven't tried prison-standard sausages." Eponine frowned at him and took the paper from his hands.

"Not like that, stupid." she muttered VERY cautiously, and read on. "The killer has been given the alias of 'Jacques the Ripp-errrr' with a rolled 'r' by Louis Petain, the Minister for Bounty Hunters, and is considered highly dangerous. A bounty of three-hundred francs has been placed on him." Javert rubbed his hands together briskly, and took the paper back.

"So does that handsome sum of money tempt you, Miss Thenardier?" he said.

"One, could everyone stop calling me that today? Two, it isn't that handsome ... pretty, perhaps, but never handsome. And three, you think I'm in this for the money?"

"Well, yes. You are that type. Not much off being a gamin and used to be poor enough to do anything to get some cash." was the answer. Eponine scoffed, nearly choking on the buttered croissant she had nimbly 'taken' from beside the news-stall man without his noticing.

"That's nice! I might as well just quit this minute if you're the one who's going to try to provide me with money!" she pretend-laughed. But then, at just the right moment, something clever popped into her head.

"I'll make you a deal then, on that basis." she said, smiling cunningly, "I get the bounty, since that's all that's on my mind, and you get all the honour and glory of upholding the law as a humble but righteous citizen. Howabout it?" Javert, preoccupied with reading the article more closely, agreed with her.

"Yes yes." he mumbled. Eponine, keen to preserve this, rushed to the news- stall man, asked for a piece of paper and a pen and ink, acquired said piece of paper and pen and ink, quickly scribbled something down, and stalked back to Javert.

"Could you sign this for me, please?" she asked sweetly, twisting one of her legs to add to the general 'nice little girl' effect.

"Yes yes." Javert repeated, signing his name without looking at the paper at all. Eponine gleefully folded up the contract and put it in her pocket, patting it reassuringly.

"Pleasure doing business with you." she said.

* * *

Enjolras, for the hundred-and-tenth time in his life, massaged his forehead with rigid fingers. The students, as usual, all had decided that their opinion was just as important as everyone else's, and so a cacophony ensued in the building which had been decimated by the National Guard just a few moons ago.

"Please. Please. Please. Shut up." Enjolras said quietly, mostly to himself. Combeferre, noticing his leader's reserved distress, tried his hand at settling the disharmonised din.

"Ummm, please, comrades, be quiet. Pipe down? Hello there? Hello? Anyone?" he called out politely. He looked imploringly at Grantaire, who was busy sitting with a glass of port in each hand a few metres away, eying Enjolras who was atop the bar. Setting the port down, he yelled out:

"SHUT THE HELL UP!!" And there was silence, and there it reigned for a few seconds until Enjolras spoke.

"Thank you. Listen my comrades, the time has come yet again. Those idiotic politicians think we're dead ... or I hope they do. Now is the best time to attack once more, and we shall win! Go revolution!!" The rest of the students, much to Enjolras and Combeferre's annoyance, had lost their enthusiasm for fighting somewhat. All their leader and his practical secretary could do was watch them fumble with their sleeves, look glumly at each other or simply shrug. Enjolras picked up a bayonet, clumsily discarded by a soldier when clearing the site, and raised it above his head in a victory stance.

"I told you the story of my great-grandfather in the French Revolution, and his triumphant rise from a peasant to a renowned hero (in the Montmartre area, anyway). It's time we picked up where he left off ... and pick up where, urrr, we left off too I suppose. This time, we'll win!"

"What if we don't?" a cynical student asked.

"Then, we will fight again and again, for we have been resurrected for this purpose! We are meant to succeed, or we would still be out cold."

"Dead." the cynical student said. Combeferre leaned towards him and whispered in his ear.

"He was only trying to make the situation sound less gruesome. Please don't ruin it for the others. We have some sensitive types here."

"Like you?" the cynical student grinned nastily. Combeferre turned a colour not dissimilar from crimson, but was careful to not look too marroon (that would have looked odd). At that point, when it seemed like both Enjolras and Combeferre had run out of inspiring speech material, the cynical student was getting more hostile by the minute and Grantaire was completely inebriated never to return to a sobre state, Lesgle stepped in to give his opinion.

"Look, it's never gonna work. It didn't then, it ain't now. I say that we keep well outta the way of soldiers and bayonets and cannons and instead become more organised. I managed to do a lotta thinking on that barricade, and it just wasn't a decent plan. We were all over the place, and unefficient. In order to achieve our goals, I reckon we've gotta get ourselves an organisation together, with us as the elite members who know what the hell we're doing. I'm sure we can bribe some suckers to do the dirty, boring paper-work ("Oh no!" cried Combeferre) and we can get all the action and fun stuff. Whaddya say to that, everyone?" There was a brief silence as all the others thought, 'Where did he get this idea from??'. All of a sudden, Enjolras banged the base of the bayonet on the bar.

"Mon dieu, he's got it! That's the best plan that someone's come up with besides me! ("Geez, thanks." Lesgle muttered.) We can call it 'The - 'The - 'The - what did you call it, Bossuet?"

"An organisation."

"Hmm, it doesn't have much of a ring to it. Any other suggestions?"

"The Coalition!" cried Bahorel.

"The Association!" suggested Jean Provaire.

"The Consolidation!" said another.

"The Partnership!"

"The Connection!"

"The Incorporated Affiliated Alliance!!" Combeferre cried.

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaannnnnnnddd SOLD!! To Combeferre over there!" shouted Enjolras over the crowd, repeatedly banging the bayonet up and down. Combeferre could not hold back an embarrassed smile.

"We are 'The, errr, Incorporated Affiliated Allitadatadada ...'.

"Alliance, Enjolras."

"Whatever!!" Enjolras said, "We're that thing he just said! We're elite, supreme and we're -"

"Gonna kick the government's butt!" Bossuet cut-in.

"Well, something like that." Combeferre said, patting him gently on the back. Grantaire, who had had his face flat on the table during the excitement, methodically raised his head.

"Won't you need proper stuff like some stuff like like official papers and maps and guns and trenchcoats and some putty rubbers and more more more booze ..." he trailed off into a drunken hush, and his face flopped back down onto the table-top.

"He's right!" said Bahorel.

"Quick! To the University!" someone shouted, and all the students tumbled out into the hazy day ... the day that they had been reborn.

* * *

"I GIVE UPPP!!" Javert flung his hat down in despair, and probably would have jumped on it for an impressive effect if he hadn't of been the way he was. Eponine, less angry yet still annoyed, leapt onto the strange red sofa in Javert's basement.

"So no-one knows who this Jacques guy is yet. Big deal. Someone will. They always do." she said. Javert glared at her through eyes of an inferno.

"And you know do you? Who are you going to ask? Louis Petain himself?" he said through clenched fangs. Tired and aggravated by his disregard for her efforts, Eponine decided to leave and try on her own. On her own was the best solution. It always had been.

"Where are you off to?" Javert asked, watching her sidle to the stairs.

"You don't really care." she said with calm defiance, and hurried away. When she reached the front door, she stopped abruptly. Where was she going? She leant against the wall, and thought deeply. After all, there were many places that she could go. She knew many people who may have had information, but whether they were still alive, or even (horror of horrors) banged up inside some grotty prison somewhere. One person that she would bet upon still being free was Montparnasse, who could sweet-talk his way out of any jail-sentence. One time, Eponine recalled clearly, he had stolen money from a vastly wealthy bishop who had been staying in Paris on a tour of the cities (this bishop was important because he was trying to convert everyone - a bit like nowadays when women cry out evangelical prophesies to passers-by in the street). When the police caught up with Montparnasse, he performed a magic trick with one of the coins he had taken, and they obligingly told him to be on his way. Eponine regretted not taking any tips from him. As we have said previously, she was unlucky in the whole 'cops and robbers' game. Perhaps Montparnasse was the only option she had to please Javert. It would not have impressed him, however, to discover that she had asked him of all people, but Eponine was unaware of this, and carried on accordingly. She scoured the night-time streets, home to the underworld's finest after the dark. There were numerous places where he could have been lurking, but after visiting all but one, it became obvious to Eponine that he was trying to keep a low profile. Maybe he had a bounty on his head ... or even on the rest of his body. It took her a little while to get to this secret hideaway, for it was on the outskirts of the gang's usual patch of which Eponine knew all too well. When she emerged in the glow of a street-lamp at the end of the particular street, it was the witching hour. There was an empty building at the opposite end, but the clever part was that the hide-out wasn't in there. She pressed her back against the front of the uninhabited house, and turned her head towards the alleyway running along the side of it.

"'Parnasse?" she said. There was a rustle and a cough.

"Yeah?"

"It's me, 'Ponine."

"Well I'll be -"

"Shhh! Listen , I have no time to explain things properly. I ain't a ghost."

"You're not?"

"No."

"Oh."

"Do you know who 'Jacques the Ripp-errrrrr with a rolled 'r' is and where I can find him?"

"Errr, yeah, I do. But why do you wanna know?"

"Never mind about that."

"Well, I don't know exactly who he is, but I heard from some guys in the inn down the way that he was local ..."

"Near the tenement?"

"Yup. But even closer to the ..." They both had heard it. A loud, authoritative voice calling from across the street.

"Eponine!"

"Yipes, gotta go." Montparnasse said, and his face became semi-visable as he edged a little nearer to Eponine.

"Take care of yourself, 'Ponine. Catch ya later!" And he was gone. Eponine searched the line of trees over the road, where the voice had come from. She could make out a tall figure attempting to hide behind one of them, quite possibly peeking around to see her.

"Javert?" she said uncertainly. The figure stepped out, and walked towards her.

"Who were you dealing with tonight then, eh?" he said, brushing the pieces of fir-tree that had attached themselves to his arm.

"I was asking around about Jacques the Ripp-errrrrr, actually. I think that you were being more dishonourable by following me." Eponine retaliated, "And I was this close to finding out his true identity and where he was."

"Well excuse me for being concerned." Javert snapped, folding his arms how a spoiled child does when they don't get the flavour of ice-cream that they wanted when their unfortunate parent has trekked a mile of baking sand at the seaside for a cone.

"Concerned. Ha! You just don't want me seen consorting with MY OWN KIND!!" Eponine accused forcefully.

"That's untrue! Stop dreaming up these ridiculous -"

"Arrrgh, I can't stand this constant war! I'm leaving, and this time don't follow me!!"

"Why would I want to?"

"Fine!"

"Fine."

"Fine!"

"Fine."

"Fine!"

"... fine then." Javert sighed. Eponine turned and stormed away, back the way she had come. Javert instinctively reached into his pocket for his snuff-box, and frowned when he realised that it was still missing.

'Where on earth could it be?' he wondered, and strode back into the trees. Here he could mourn for his snuff in peace.


	4. The Man Of The Water

The Bounty Hunters Of Paris 

Part Four - The Man Of The Water

Marius Pontmercy, newly-wed and distraught (not because he was newly-wed), had sobbed all the way on the trip in the fiacre, from his residence to a rather shabbier part of the city. Even as he got out and paid the driver he had fresh tears bubbling up, as if his eyes were two mountain springs, like the ones you get pictures of on bottles of water. He trudged up the steps to the house, the house where he hoped help would lie in wait for him. He tapped on the door, and wiped his sore eyes with his sleeve like a little boy. He heard voices coming from the basement, something like,

"Was that the front door?"

"Nah."

"It blatantly was!"

"What if it was the back door?"

"Then I'd still have to get it!"

"Hurry up then. It's your house."

About a minute later, the door opened, revealing a grumpy-looking Javert.

"Yes?" he asked monotonously. He thought that it may be someone who still thought he was a policeman and needed some assistance, because apart from that, no-one ever called round. Except Eponine, who let herself in usually.

"My name is Marius Pontmercy," Marius began, taking off his hat and clasping it in the hands, "And I need your help. I heard that a couple of bounty hunters lived here ..."

Javert nodded, and felt as if he had met this young gentleman before.

"That's correct. But don't I know you from somewhere?"

"Hang on ... are you Inspector Javert? The one who gave me -" Marius nearly mentioned the pistols he had kept, but thought better of it at just the right second.

"Well, I suppose you'd better come in. I'll have to explain the current situation to you." Javert said, pulling the door wider.

"Are you still with the police?" Marius asked, having imediately assumed that he had been.

"No." came the reply, full of shame, as the two men began to descend into the basement. Marius was surprised, as Eponine had been at first, at the disorder of the room, and the random items which covered nearly the entire floor space. He was aware of another presence besides Javert even before he reached the bottom of the stairs.

"Monsieur Marius ..." said a voice, which Marius had last heard in its lat dying moments.

"'Ponine!" he cried, as she came into view, sprawled on a sofa, "I - you - what - how - this - oh my god!" was all he managed to muster.

"Yes, it's all rather confusing." Javert said calmly, "It happened to her and I. We died, it is true, and even visited - well, an afterlife of sorts, but I do not know if it was heaven or hell. Purgatory, perhaps - but no, that's not the point. The fact is that we're back, and that is all we know. Why, how, we just have no conception of the answers to these questions that I can see you're bursting to ask."

"But how?!" Marius said.

"Umm, refering to what I've just said, we do not know."

"But why?!" Marius said. Javert shook his head, and looked at Eponine.

"You're being awfully quiet, for someone who had an apology for me." he said to her. She was staring at Marius in a very peculiar way.

"Forget that." she said slowly.

"What?! After that performance? Going to see some scum-bag and asking them - it ... whatever - for help?"

"I'm extremely sorry, but could I just tell you my predicament?" Marius said, holding up a hand. Eponine smiled warmly at him, and went and sat on the floor beside him.

"Of course you can." she said, and continued to smile.

"It's very tragic ... Cossette, my wife -"

"YOUR WHAT?????"Eponine bellowed.

"Shut up!" said Javert, throwing a magazine at her.

"I thought you would have seen that coming, 'Ponine! You knew that we were in love!" Marius reasoned, feeling the tears start to reappear, "And now she's been kidnapped by some fiend by the bounty alias of 'V-D Vouivre'."

"What does the 'V-D' stand for?" Javert asked him.

"Errr, 'Very-Devious', I think." Meanwhile, Eponine had taken possession of Marius's left leg and was proceeding to rock back and forth.

"But you're mine ... mine ... always ... ha ha ha ... mine." she kept on saying to herself, her eyes unblinking and wide. Javert ignored her, and Marius tried to, but it was quite difficult for him, his leg having been taken hostage.

"We shall do everything we can to ensure your wife's safe return, and that justice is served as far as the criminal goes." Javert said, sounding professional and feeling pleased with himself for doing so. Marius attempted a smile.

"It's been such a strange day ... first I wake up to find her missing ... the police no help ... and now, 'Ponine, I - 'Ponine, please let go, I have to shoot off - 'Ponine?"

"Oh, I am sorry." Eponine said, and graciously ungripped her fingers from his calf. Javert suddenly bolted upright in his seat.

"Is something the matter?" said Marius. He saw that Javert's eyes were directed at the window, at the very top of the wall. Although it was grubby and small, one could see fairly well out of it.

"There's someone watching us." Javert said, and quickly made for the stairs. He rushed outside, only to hear footsteps running around the corner.

"Stop!" he cried, and began a chase (why is it that people say that? Of course they're not going to stop!).

"What was all that about?" said Eponine, watching the dust clouds that Javert had kicked up fall smoothly back to the floor.

* * *

For half a mile he had pursued him, and they were approaching the River Seine at top speed. Javert started to pant heavily, and felt the urge to stop and take a breather. But that would give the stranger time to properly escape, and that would be a huge dent to Javert's already battered pride (he was too tall to have an ego, as some people may think). He considered his route; they were nearly at a bridge, one of the smaller ones at any rate. In the dark, and with a scrambled mind, Javert had trouble deciphering which it was exactly. The man he was chasing had now reached the bridge, yet stopped dead in the middle. Javert saw him turn around, and caught a glint of a toothy grin.

"You there, who are you, you, yes you." Javert said, feeling that he had somewhat abused the word 'you'. The stranger lunged for him with hands outstretched. Javert was unable to dodge, being exhausted by their little jog together, and was pushed back. Next, he was assaulted with a series of punches to the stomach, but was able to keep the cries of pain inside and to maintain his upright posture. When the flying kick was unleashed, he ducked over to the side, grabbing the parapet. But his attacker was far too quick, and spun around in mid-air. With an amazing impulse of strength, he lifted Javert a small way off the ground and flung him over the bridge into the depths waiting below. Needless to say, Javert got a huge sense of deja- vous when he entered the water.

* * *

You-Know-Who and Surprise-Surprise were sitting by the river at this time, complete with their fishing rods (Emile had fixed his). Delanoe, always the lucky one, felt his rod tug, and forced downwards.

"Whoa, this is a biggun!" he said excitedly, and held on to Emile for support. His catch was pulling him down too. Hesitantly, Emile took hold of the rod as well and both used all their might to surface the strong thing beneath the water. After a few seconds, it showed it's identity.

"Well lookie here Emile, it's the Inspector again! Fancy that." Delanoe said. Javert had emerged from the water, with the most irritated scowl imaginable. This was not only because it was the second time he'd been in the Seine that week, but because he was covered in the local fishermen's favourite colloquialism, 'Seine crap'. He waded to the dock, and hoisted himself up onto it.

"My, that's the second weird thing I've pulled out in the past two nights!" Delanoe said, examining his rod as if it was magical, "First, this little silver box, then that cool Inspector guy ..." Javert, who had began to walk away, spun around, his ears having pricked up at 'little silver box'.

"What?" he said.

"What what?"

"What little silver box?"

Delanoe smiled, clasping his hands together.

"Ahhh, lovely little thing, it was. It had, like, a nice pattern on it, umm, what was the pattern on it, Emile?"

"An entwined thorny thing."

"Yeah, that was it! An entwined thorny thing." Delanoe repeated. Javert looked at him expectantly.

"Well?"

"Well what?"

"Well, where is it?"

"Oh, I dunno. I've lost it, the same as the bugger who owned it before me. I only had it half an hour or so ago ..." Delanoe sniffed. Javert scowled at him, having an unsuppressable urge to strangle Delanoe. His snuff box, his antique snuff box, one of his prize possessions, mistreated so ... As he was contemplating the act of murder, a face appeared from around the corner. Well, from around a collection of fish nets and those cone shaped things that fishermen use, in any case. It was a grubby, youthful face of a boy, which grinned with suprisingly white teeth. It beared an uncanny resemblance to someone Javert knew well.

"Evenin', Guv'ner." the grinning face said, and a hand, presumably belonging to the face, produced Javert's snuff box. Javert acted immediately.

"Give that to me!!" he shouted, lunging for it. The face, and indeed the hand too, in a flash disappeared, leaving Javert falling flat onto the stone ground. Despite his nose hurting like hell, he got up, and chased after the boy. Emile and Delanoe watched in semi-amusement. When Javert's reverberating growls of anger had faded somewhat, Delanoe turned to Emile and said,

"So he nicked the box. Clever little rascal."

"It was Gavroche, weren't it? Ain't he dead?" Emile said uncertainly. His friend shrugged, and the pair continued to 'fish' as if it had all never happened.


	5. The Rebel Hunter

The Bounty Hunters Of Paris 

Part Five - The Rebel Hunter 

Moonlight played on the trodden-down sidewalk of the Paris street, as if its soft beams were joyful children in a park. The last two people to have walked along the street had been an incompetant pair of gendarmes, and they certainly had not noticed the beauty of the hazy summer night. Alas, the observancy skills of the gendarmes of the day.

And a single, dim light from a basement, which flickered on and off occasionally, was the only sign of human life in the entire street. Guess who's house? Guess who's basement?

"Tell me then!" the owner, a certain person called Javert, said.

"Can't you work it out? It's sooooooo obvious." Eponine said, smiling to herself proudly.

"I cannot work out who this Jacques the Ripp-errrrrr person is. Just tell me and we can track him down -"

"Who said they were a 'he'?" Eponine smirked slyly.

"Well, the 'Jacques' part, really. It was a ... an educated guess. Actually, no, it wasn't, any imbecile would have thought it. So ... it's a woman then?"

"No."

"Then why did you say -"

"Just to confuse you."

Javert scratched his head impatiently, and fumbled for his newly-acquired snuff-box. He took a lengthy sniff and appeared to relax. As his greatest indulgence, Javert always took time to enjoy his snuff and made it last as long as possible every time he used it. At this time he was using it quite frequently, for he had only just found it again the night before (he had eventually caught up with Gavroche and had, with some rough-handling, wrenched the box out of the gamin's hands). Eponine, however much she seemed to despise the stuff (it reminded her of the aristocrats, who had treated her like muck off their expensive shoes ever since she had been born) preferred the 'snuff-ified' Javert much better than the 'snuff-less', grumpy guts that she had been putting up with (this tolerance had been accomplished splendidly, or so she considered).

"Look, just say it all right? And then we can capture the rogue and bring him ... err her ... err, whatever to justice." Javert said impatiently, tapping his foot on the only visable floorboards of the original floor in the room - the rest was covered in an overgrown carpet of boxes, magazines, half-eaten bread sticks (recent additions, due to Eponine's messy eating habits) and an abundance of worthless bric-a-brac which Javert considered as items that 'may become useful, in the future of course'. He was one of those people who never threw anything away ... he even flinched when he took out his garbage.

Eponine scratched her nose to give her the appearance of someone who had a very clever thing to say (borrowed directly from University students, whom she had observed scrupulously over the time she had resided in Paris).

"Do you remember," she started, very slowly and calculatedly (does that word exist??), "The day we looked for our first bounty, coincidentally being 'Jacques the Ripp-errrrrr', and that butcher yelled at me?"

Just when it should have, the penny dropped, and, had it existed, rolled across the floor and spun around for a bit before lying still. Javert knew exactly who it was.

But have you, yes you the reader, realised who it is? You probably did all those chapters ago ... the 'strangulation with sausages' was a clue.

"Of course! Why did I not see it before?!" Javert exclaimed, leaping to the stairs.

"Because I'm the smart, sophisticated, not to mention cute, one." Eponine told him, slightly condescendingly. This did not go down well with Javert, nor did it sit comfortably in his stomach, or anywhere else for that matter.

"I thought I was the cute one." he said, a little down-heartedly.

"No, you're the bumbling ex-cop who can't string two clues together." Eponine reminded him.

"I was brilliant at my job, do not mock me!" Javert said angrily, his bloated ego returning to him in a turrent of pride.

* * *

He led the way to the butcher's shop, Eponine behind, uneasy about the confrontation with a man who handled large, flesh-chopping knives everyday. Nowadays, it would be stupid to go to the butchers in the middle of the night and expect the owner to be there (well, it could be. But I'm no butcher, so I wouldn't know). Yet this man in particular lived in the apartments above his store, so all it would be was a case of breaking-and- entering and rounding him up, presumably in his night-shirt, and bundling him off to the police station down the road. It was extremely dark when they reached the looming shop, three stories high and imposing with its black bricks (the butcher had had complaints about the colour of his establishment. If he had been working in the twentieth or twenty-first or even twenty-second centuries, he could have easily blamed it on traffic fumes or those damn human-eating robots. Instead, as he was stuck in the nineteen-hundreds, he used horse dung as an excuse.)

At the door, Javert nodded at Eponine, who cricked her neck appropriately, and stretched her arms. She licked her forefinger, tested the wind, and let leash an allmighty, forceful kick.

Inside the shop, a young bounty hunter had already got there. He currently had the bewildered butcher in a strong head-lock, with a gun at his head. Wordlessly, he made for the door. He was, after all, holding his breath, because butchers shops really reek badly of raw meat and all sorts of undistinguishable and unmentionable animal parts. But, right as he reached out for the door with the hand on the arm around the butcher's neck, it fell over. The young man squinted, for the light of a street-lamp outside was shining directly into his eyes. It was difficult, but he could vaguely make out two silhouettes - one tall and one considerably shorter.

"Who?" he said, using his gun-hand as a shield against the blinding light. The tall figure advanced, and the young man shuffled back, aiming the gun at their chest. This gave him some seconds to try to decipher who the strange apparitions before him were, for they certainly weren't telling him readily. Only slightly perturbed by the gun, the tall figure resumed steadily edging forward.

"Get out! Go away!" He was, in truth, frightened by the larger of the two, possibly because of the size difference but also because the smaller lingered behind, in the doorway.

"I'll shoot! Then I'll have you arrested if you aren't dead!"

This too did not seem to worry the strangers, and now the smaller one stepped inside the shop, and it was evidently a girl because of the long flowing hair. Sweat covered the young man's quivering hand, and he could not aim the gun properly. His only resort was to attack them.

"Arrrrrrrrrrrrrrgggghhhh!!!" He charged, swinging the gun wildly at the tall figure's head. He struck them, hard, on the back of their head, and they tumbled over out of consciousness. The other put up a fight. She launched a fist into the young man's chest, knocking him back a foot and making him release the butcher, whom he hastily shot in each foot to prohibit his escape. Through the cries of agony, the girl lunged for the bounty hunter's left arm, now free, and bit down on it, ripping through the material of his shirt. He yelped, but brought the gun down onto her head too, and she fell limp on his arm. It had all happened within half a minute, but it had felt like an epic battle. Gathering up his prisoners into a corner, he ran to the police station and reported the capture of three bounties by 'The Rebel Hunter'; the murderer 'Jacques the Ripp- errrrrr', and two others named 'Psycho Phillipe' and 'Swift Eye'.

* * *

As light entered Javert's closed eyes, his mind came into a conscious state again. He stretched out an arm, and felt cold, cruel metal.

'This is odd.' he thought, and searched for more about his surroundings, not yet opening his eyes. This time he felt a contrast to the hard metal, it was soft and warm and -

"ARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!" screamed Eponine, who had only just come round herself, "YOU'RE TOUCHING MY -"

"Ooh ooh ooh." said a stranger, who was in front of Javert, who realised that now would be the best time to look. He saw Eponine, on the bed next to him, and a man sitting on the one next to that. Thankfully he had pulled his hand sharply back, and so he did not know what he had touched. The man, he observed, was looking at him with immense interest. He was also drooling.

"What are you doing?" Javert asked him, sitting up and patting down his messed-up hair.

"I'll tell you one thing, mate; I'm not doing anything half as interesting as what you're doing." he grinned, showing the gaps in his mouth where white, healthy teeth had been many years ago. He then glanced at Eponine, still with saliva dripping into his lap.

"What is it, Babet?" she asked him disgustedly, "Being a pervert, eh? Is that what you're in here for?"

Just as Babet was about to answer, Javert cut-in. He suddenly realised that he didn't know where he was.

"Where are we?"

Whilst Babet roared with laughter, Eponine put on a sarcastic voice.

"We're on a lovely sunny beach in Nice, licking ice-creams and dipping our feet into the cool tide ..." she said. Javert blinked, searching for the ice-cream in his empty hands.

"We're in prison of course!" Eponine cried, annoyed by his naivety, "With the iron bars and the hard beds and the jailers!"

"I think you're lying again." Javert said hopefully, but of course, she wasn't. A feeling of dread and the reality that his worst nightmare had come true was becoming too much for him to bear. He figured that it had been their assailant the night before who had turned them in; but for what? Sluggishly, he gazed into the grey corridor through the barred door, and gained a perspective that he had only ever seen from the other side. He belonged outside the secure walls and fences, in the streets, doing good and maintaining justice.

"I need my snuff." he moaned, and a little tear fell down his cheek.

* * *

Within the hour, Javert and Eponine were in the crowded, stinking dining hall, packed with assorted types of criminals, all crammed together like evil sardines in a barb-wired tin. Every one, excluding the jailers, had a grey and black stripey jump-suit thing on, with their prison numbers on their backs. Being the only female in the entire building, Eponine was attired in a disgusting pink and black ensemble. Her entrance into the hall had been graced with sniggers and cheeky wolf-whistles ("I", she had whispered to Javert, "Have never been so embarrassed."). They collected their trays of 'food' and settled down on the emptiest table they could find. After eating rather pickily from their piles of mushy peas and bacon that consisted completely of white fat for a while, Eponine turned to Javert.

"Ahh, you were right you know." she said with an downturned mouth, looking suspiciously at the thing on the end of her fork.

"What about?" Javert asked between mouthfuls.

"These prison sausages." Eponine said, turning the piece of cutlery with the sausage on it around.

"That's not a sausage." Javert said very matter-of-factly, "That's a baked bean."

The fork flew through the air, narrowly missing various heads and plunging its prongs into the opposite wall. The bean had removed itself from the impliment that had impaled it and had shot into someone's strange looking casserole two tables away.

"Eeeeeeeeeewwwwwwwwwwwww!!! It's a mutant bean!!" Eponine screamed, grabbing Javert's sleeve and curling her lips in pure, horrified disgust. The man beside Javert nudged him, and asked,

"Is she in here for murder, mate? I wouldn't be surprised. She's like a little loose cannon."

Javert glared at this common, indecent criminal like a rather putrid pile of dung (please excuse the gross imagery).

"No, we are both innocent." he scoffed. The man chuckled as if he had told him a fairly rare 'knock knock' joke.

"Yeah, I mean, I robbed a nun of all her worldly possessions, but I'm as innocent as a fairy." he said. Eponine, who had rapidly gotten over the baked bean/sausage incident, frowned at this statement.

"There's ... a lot of things wrong with that." she said, but was interupted before she could say anymore by a bell.

"Finish off yer lunch, scumbags!" shouted one of the officers, and there was an instant clatter of cutlery and the sound of chairs being pushed back. As Javert and Eponine were leaving for their cell, Babet caught up with them.

"Phew! Look, I really need to talk to you two." he said, out of breath for some reason.

"Oh no, we are not going to consort with you." Javert told him for the millioneth time, despite the fact that he had only known him half-an hour.

"No really, I have a plan!" Babet murmured, and followed them back to the cell. Once inside, he posted Eponine by the door as a look-out, and moved the rotting wooden desk aside from the wall.

"What is going on? Are you writing to your mother or something?" Javert asked impatiently, tapping his foot.

"No no, look look!" Babet said earnestly, and as Javert looked, a hole emerged into his view.

"A tunnel, eh? I bet it leads to nowhere." he said, yet was actually fairly impressed.

"Try it, try it, it leads to freedom! We can go tonight, when the guards have fallen asleep on watch." Babet said, "I know exactly when they do!"

Scared that if he asked any more questions he'd be returned with a barrage of exclaimation- marked comments, Javert lay down on decided to while the hours away by taking a nap. Soon he'd be free, and could forget the whole experience.


	6. A Forced Comrade

The Bounty Hunters Of Paris

Part Six - A Forced Comrade

Out there, yes, just there, on the river bank. Can you see them? Well, I didn't expect you to be able to. It's bloomin' dark.

And that's just what Emile was thinking too. Dark, dark, dark, and no fish. Or anything remotely useful sinking into the muddy depths of the river, discarded by someone and that could be, with some luck, lost forever. But, just for the record, what had they found asides a snuff box and a severely annoyed ex-cop that could be considered 'useful'? Not a thing, as if you couldn't guess.

"Listen, Delanoe." Emile addressed his friend carefully, "I think we should stop."

"Hmmm? Stop what? Oh that, well, it's not like he's goin' to notice -"

"No, I'm not talking about us pinching bread from old Monsieur Joinel's shop down the street."

"Oh ... right." Delanoe said disappointedly, his fleeting hope that maybe he had actually guessed something correctly dashed. Emile scratched his nose, and decided to approach the matter very delicately.

"Look, this fishing thing that we do ... it's been fun, huh? A bit of a laugh, a nice way to, errr, pass the night, but, I, umm, think that we should give it a rest. I mean, people have started coming out at night again, you know, and we've had some strange looks from some -"

"So what, Emile?!" Delanoe laughed, "It's not like we never got called weirdos before. I - huh? Lookee over there - I think it's our friend again!"

Sure enough, it was their 'friend-of-sorts', Javert, emerging from the sewers, covered in stuff a lot worse than the 'Seine crap' that he was now used to. He felt like he had never been so angry, but he was wrong; he had been in the dankness of the Paris sewers before. To add to his frustration, he was closely followed by a grinning Babet, and an excited Eponine who could not stop talking.

"Wow, I can't believe we escaped! Babet, you're a genius! Aww, Javert, surely you're not going all depressed on us now? It was fun, wasn't it, don't tell me it wasn't."

"Oh yeah, it was great. Super. Yeah, especially when I found that rat had crawled half-way up my leg inside my trousers." Javert said bitterly, still getting a tingling sensation by his knee, where the rat had tried to bite him.

As they reached the side-walk, Babet began dusting his shabby convict jump- suit off and nodded to the other two.

"Well, I'm off. If you keep this a secret, we'll be alright! Bye bye!" he said, waved happily and disppeared into a convenient alley. Javert sighed a massive sigh of relief, filled with an over-whelming feeling of 'everything's going to be fine'. He trudged up the road, Eponine at his heels (this was almost possible, seeing as he was a foot taller than her). They looked up at the brilliant moon glowing ominously from in-between the tree branches lining the street, saw a forlorn stray cat dig around in a pile of rubbish for it's next meal, and even glanced a tiny baby bird taking its first peek over the side of the nest as its mother slept. Yet neither noticed Emile and Delanoe, who sat like statues in their usual spot, observing them with awe in their eyes.

"Wow, that guy's so cool." Delanoe breathed, "How come he keeps on doin' such amazin' things?"

"I have no idea, but some day his luck's gotta run out." Emile said, yet his partner was oblivious to him. As the twilight closed in and obscured their view of Javert and Eponine, Emile silently packed up his equipment and let the transfixed Delanoe be.

* * *

If there had been anyone in the house at that moment, they would have been alerted to an intruder or two when the middle basement step creaked very loudly. The trouble was, it was the owner of the house who had made the sound.

"I need to get that fixed." Javert commented as he lifted his foot from the guilty step. In an effort to be clever, Eponine jumped over it to avoid making the noise.

"I'll do it, if you like." she offered sincerely, glancing back at the step and working out some measurements in her head.

"Oh no, not you. I'll get a professional." Javert said, and settled on the edge of his usual old armchair. "Now we have proper business to attend to. I suggest that, seeing as that 'Jacques the Ripp-errrrrr' was captured by that other dastardly bounty hunter, we concentrate upon 'V-D Vouivre', who kidnapped Mrs Pontmercy -"

"Yes yes, fine, don't rub it in!" Eponine said hurridly. Javert was going to inquire about what exactly he was rubbing in, but thought better of it.

"Well then, I suggest we leave now. To get a head-start. Yes. But, errr, first I'll get changed out of these damp clothes. You should too. It would look odd if we wandered around in convicts' clothes." he said light- heartedly, tugging at the front buttons of the jump-suits. It was a fact that since moving into the headquarters, Eponine had gotten used to Javert, as he had her, so they didn't mind starting to undress in front of each other. So he was old enough to be her father, or even her scary uncle; they would never show more than an inch of their under-garments, don't you worry.

"Yes, how embarrassing that would be for you." Eponine said quietly as she made her way to her room, and, ultimately, her closet.

* * *

They met in the hallway. It was still pitch-black in the street outside, and Javert, who had arrived in their meeting place first, had lit one soliary candle on a low wooden end-table.

"Well? Where will this scoundrel be? It always seems to be you who has all the answers noawdays." he said bitterly, putting his tall hat on and adjusting it while glaring into the mirror on the plaster wall.

"Just follow me, alright? It's easier that way." Eponine said, flinging the front door open dramatically and sweeping into the night air.

"Ha." Javert said, and obediently tagged along. The path Eponine took to V- D Vouivre's hideout was very unusual - she seemed to take a lot of shortcuts, but then double back on herself numerous times. Javert knew the surrounding streets well enough to notice this strange pattern.

"It's a habit for people like me." she explained when he inquired about it. He knew exactly what kind of people she meant, and then it all made sense. It was a trick to elude the police, simple yet disturbingly effective. Javert asked himself why he hadn't thought about it when he had been in the force, and could find no answer. He scowled for the rest of the journey, which lasted another nine minutes to be precise.

V-D Vouivre lived in a hole. Now, you may think that I'm using a metaphor for his choice of abode, but it really was yet a hole. It had been discreetly dug out of the riverbank a fair distance from the city centre, where no quay had been constructed as of yet and there was a lot of grass and flora and fauna which made Javert sneeze. He promptly pulled out a large, perfectly white handkerchief and stuck it underneath his nose, the end of which had turned pink.

"Id thid duh place?" he said, in-between sneezes. It did have a door to it, a rather decent looking door they had to admit, but it appeared to them that it would lead to pretty much nothing, let alone nowhere.

"I think so ... let's try it." Eponine said worriedly, and tapped the door uncertainly. There was a pronounced scuffling noise, and two male grunts. She looked up at Javert, who was having trouble with his now bright red nose.

"Do id." he told her. And so, despite being hesitant, Eponine kicked the door. It burst from it's locks and fell over. It was a circular room carved into the earth, lit by plain candles and with the odour of wet, sloppy mud about it. A tense atmosphere hung in the top of the cave, but the action was happening at the floor. None other than the young man who had imprisoned them was tackling V-D Vouivre. He stopped dead at their entrance.

"Wow, it's Psycho Phillipe and Swift Eye!" he said, sounding quite impressed.

"Stand aside, fiend!" Javert cried, striding forward to claim his prize of V-D Vouivre. But the young man was not so willing to hand him over, and pulled out a gun.

"I don't think so, Pyscho." he said, pointing the gun at the irritated Javert.

"Why do you insist in referring to me as that name?" he asked, keeping one trained eye on V-D Vouivre.

"It's your bounty name, of course." the young man said, smiling and tightening his grip on the gun. Despite his calm voice, his knuckles were turning white, "Every bounty hunter has one. That's the name of the game. I can't believe that you don't know! You see, while we capture bounty heads, some of us are also wanted for crimes that we ourselves have committed in the past."

"But I have never committed a criminal offence in all my life!"

"You must have done. I saw your picture in the paper. It made you look about ten years older mind, I got a shock when I saw you for real. So, I'm sorry, but you obviously have done something to annoy the cops before."

While this discussion was taking shape, Eponine had crept to the back of the cave where she had spied another person, sitting on the mossy floor with their back to the others. They had a rope tied around them and they were gagged. Eponine grabbed their shoulder, and, after feeling them initially tense up, she pulled them back to see their face.

"Oh, it's you." she said, and gained a great sense of temporary satisfaction in seeing Cosette in this state. Reluctantly, Eponine tugged at the gag, and Cosette's tear filled eyes lit up.

"Thank you so much! I never would have thought - you are here to save me, aren't you? It's terribly dirty in here. Is Marius here? My, you're looking well - it is you, Eponine, isn't it?" she said once she was able to, and Eponine soon began to wish that she had remained muted.

"Yes, it's me. No problem. Come on." she muttered, hauling the other young woman up. She could hear an argument from the far end of the dingy cave.

"I got here first, you know. I should claim the money. Simple as that."

"Hand him over, boy. You won't get the upper hand on me again!"

"Move out of the way!"

"Never!"

"Stop it!" Eponine intervened, marching over and taking her place beside Javert, "Two against one. We win the guy."

"Err, yes, what she said." Javert added. The young man threw back his head and howled.

"Oh jeez, you full well know that you two are no match against me. There's not a hope in hell." he laughed, and wiped his eyes. He had relaxed his grip on the gun, and it was now dangling loosely from his hand by his side.

"I'll take you on!" Eponine cried, putting up a pair of tiny fists.

"Ha ha, that's a joke - oh." the young man faultered, "Where has he gone now?"

Javert looked around, and saw only the three of them.

"That does it! This is all your fault!" he accused Eponine.

"Me?! But I'm your partner! You're supposed to blame him!" she said.

"Well it wasn't me!" their adversary said. All three looked at each other for a minute. Then they all bolted for the door.

"Umm, could you let me go? I really need a nice soapy bath." Cosette was politely asking V-D Vouivre, who had her hauled over his shoulder.

"No." he growled, sprinting along the empty riverbank.

"Oh, but I must go home! I need to finish my needlework, I have to finish this lovely little butterfly I started last week -"

"No."

"Please, it would make me oh so happy."

"..."

The three bounty hunters converged in the road, all panting and severely angry.

"So there's no sign of him anywhere." the young man said, pocketing his gun. Eponine glared at him.

"What will Marius say to me now? I haven't got his beloved out of harm's way ... what a dilemma I've got, no thanks to you!" she said, and turning to Javert added, "What do we do now?"

"Take me on." the young man intercepted.

"No, I remember where I ended up the last time we did that." Javert said bitterly.

"No no, as a partner. Three bounty hunters are better than two, right?"

Javert and Eponine sighed and looked at each other. He had a point. Plus, they had not been able to claim a single bounty yet, and the young man had. It would be easier and perhaps more beneficial to relent to his wish.

"Alright, you can join us." Javert said, holding out a hand to shake his.

"The name is Cou - Rebel Hunter." he corrected himself.

"Why, do you hunt rebels?" Eponine asked him.

"No no, I used to be one." the young man assured her, "And my real name is ... Courfeyrac."


	7. Blue Bird

The Bounty Hunters Of Paris 

Part Seven - Blue Bird 

The newspaper rustled, and Courfeyrac woke with a start. It had fallen from his hands, which had gone limp as he had dozed off in Javert's basement. Two days after he had been informally initiated into the little bounty hunter group, and he had already made himself quite at home. To Javert this was reminiscent of Eponine, and he could not understand how they could feel so comfortable so quickly in a strangers house. Eponine had told him,

"I was poor, it is true, with not a sou in the world. Courfeyrac was a student, and student equals poor. Basically, with that kind of lifestyle you make a home out of anything, and have to learn how to settle quickly. That or call the street corner, 'Home Sweet Home'."

Courfeyrac rubbed his eyes, and ran a hand over the back of his messed up hair.

"How long was I asleep?" he asked Eponine, who was busy with something on the floor.

"Dunno. About half an hour? He'd already gone to bed, mind." she told him, referring to Javert as 'he'. Courfeyrac nodded and glanced over his page in the newspaper. It was conveniently on the bounty page, page 16 to be precise, in the Moniteur.

"Ahh, yes, I was looking at this guy in particular. He has robbed loads of the rich houses about a mile away from here. You know, that posh district? Anyway, that's the guy for me." he said, half to himself.

"What, you want a rich guy who's dangerously on the run?" Eponine said, picking up a crudely made screwdriver.

"Now, that's the bounty head for me. By the way, what is it you're doing down there?"

"Nothing."

"Looks like something."

"Well, actually, now you come to mention it." Eponine began, placing the screwdriver down again, "It's something I wouldn't mind you testing out for me. You've got to promise not to tell him, though." She jerked her thumb upwards.

"I promise." Courfeyrac said.

"Alright. It may be a little bit strange to you, but I've invested into the newest forms of technology." she explained, and held out two objects for him to see. They were black, rectangular and like nothing Courfeyrac had ever seen before.

"I have made the world's first set of talkie-walkies!" Eponine said proudly, "I've been secretly working on them for the last week. I made them from odds and ends in here, like candle wax, newspaper, Javert's old boots ... well, I won't give all of it away."

"What on earth do you do with them?"

"Well, if they do work at a distance, I've only tried them ear to ear before you see, you should be able to hear me here, and I should be able to hear you wherever you are. There's buttons on it see, and you press that one to talk. Go on, take one ... go over there and talk into that holey bit on the front ..."

"Err, hello?"

"Wow, it works!"

Courfeyrac felt the smooth surface of the talkie-walkie, and could not for the life of him work out how it operated.

"Do you want me to take it with me when I go out now?" he said. Eponine gave him a disapproving look.

"Go out now? At three o'clock in the early hours? Are you crazy? Go to bed." she said, folding her arms authoratively.

"Hey, you should be in bed yourself."

"I'm a teenager, we don't do bed-times."

"Oh ... oh yeah." Courfeyrac remembered his own teenage years, which had only just passed, and had to prevent himself from grinning from the memories.

"Right, I'll get off in the morning then. If I keep these talkie-walkie-walkie-talkie things a secret, you can't tell him about this bounty. It's mine. Alright?" he said as he hid the newspaper under the chair's upholstered seat.

"Yup." Eponine said, and mock-saluted to him. Courfeyrac proceeded to go to sleep on the couch as Eponine cleared away her tools.

* * *

In the morning, at about one minute to five, Courfeyrac slipped out of Javert's house. It was a minute until Javert would promptly wake up, and Courfeyrac had unintentionally over-slept. He only just made it outside, and when he had reached the end of the road he saw Javert's curtains twitch.

"Phew ..." he said to himself, and continued on his route. He had an urge to walk to the little piece of land upon which the Notre-Dame Cathedral stood. His senses were usually reliable, and as he had no idea where to go looking for this guy, known as 'Loaded Larry'. He could have gone to the rich people's homes and questioned them, but they'd probably have taken one glimpse of him and locked and bolted their doors ... and windows, too. The square outside the Cathedral was packed with busy market stalls and beggars and annoyed British tourists dressed in frilly frocks and tail-coats and parasols. Immediately, inbetween the silk and the tatters, Courfeyrac spied a dodgy looking character. He was sitting on the steps of Notre-Dame and was lighting up a cigarette. He decided to target this man, as he had a disturbing contrast of clothes and accessories. A dirty shirt and trousers too small for him, yet a new tall hat and shiny military medals hanging from a royal blue jacket. He wore no socks, but had polished buckled shoes.

'This isn't right.' Courfeyrac thought, and made a bee-line for the man.

"Excuse me, Monsieur." he said as he got close, and the man instantly took off up the steps.

"Hey!" Courfeyrac protested, but he had already disappeared.

* * *

At the quayside, at roughly midday, Delanoe and Emile fished. Although it looked extremely odd to passers-by, it was extremely productive to the pair. Emile had 'caught' a pocket watch, a wallet, two rings and a seagull's foot. Delanoe was very proud of the hundred bottle-tops that he had procured from the river. There was also a strange black box that he had found, and when he jigged it up and down in his hand, it made strange beepy sounds.

"Maybe it's worth something ... like a technologicallical inventiony thing." Delanoe said to Emile, who shook his head.

"Definately not." he said, and resumed his fishing.

* * *

After forking out some money to donate to the Cathedral (the priest kept on giving him disgruntled looks until he did) Courfeyrac managed to begin his hunt for 'Loaded Larry'. After scouring the Cathedral's base floor and being unlucky, he opted to try out the talkie-walkie.

"Umm, hello?" he said, shoving the black box into his mouth, then his ear to hear a response.

"Oh wow! It really works at long distances! This is cool cool cool!" Eponine's blurred yet evidently excited voice said out of it. Courfeyrac curled his lip.

'Technical geek.' he thought, then went on to say, "Yeah. Great. Well done."

"So, how's the hunt going?"

"It's dire. I caught sight of him going into Notre-Dame, but he's disppeared into thin churchy-air. It's hopeless."

"No it's not! Keep positive. Huh?! Uh-oh, it's You-Know-Who!"

"What, Lord Voldemort?"

"No no, 'It's-The-Police-Disappear-Run-For-It-It's-Javert'!! I gotta go ... oh shi ... sugar. Hi there."

"What's that?" said Javert's distant voice.

"No, nothing ..."

"Eponine!!"

There was some rapid shuffling, a bang and silence. Undeterred by this, Courfeyrac took a deep breath and resumed his search. He discreetly mounted the stairs to the bell-tower, which were interrupted half-way up by some dodgy-looking scaffolding. It looked as if they were renevating the grand circular window at the front of the Cathedral. As Courfeyrac neared, he could see a figure sitting on the rickety scaffolding, and he wasn't sure if it was 'Loaded Larry' or simply a workman eating his lunchtime croque-monsieur. Courfeyrac stepped onto the platform warily, and gathered from the gleaming sword held five inches from his neck that it was, in fact, the bounty head.

"I know what you're here for." he said in a creepy, croaky voice. He had several large, over-gemmed rings on his thin fingers.

"Yeah?" Courfeyrac said, and jumped back, producing his hand-gun. Larry rolled as he let loose a few shots, causing commotion on the Cathedral floor. People were screaming and climbing over each other to get out, every tourist for themself. Ignoring this, Larry stabbed forward, making Courfeyrac back close to the edge of the platform, which swayed a little from the movement on it.

"I'm going to get your head, 'Rebel Hunter'." Larry threatened, as he slashed the air with his sword.

"Don't you have enough money?" Coufeyrac said, and shot off a few more rounds.

"I only have a thousand francs so far. I have debts, ya know." Larry said. He wiped his forehead.

"Wow. It's amazing, the conversations you can have when fighting to the death." Courfeyrac commented, and he ran around to the side next to the window. Larry intercepted him, and they ended up panting, on the floor. Courfeyrac had a sword to his throat. Larry had a gun to his head.

"Umm ..." they both said, and pulled their weapons away.

Then, somehow, a change came over Larry. He roared, furiously, and charged head-long into Courfeyrac. Just as he felt himself fall through the window, Courfeyrac's trigger finger twitched, and he heard a shot go off. His fall to earth was in slow-motion, or so he would have thought had he seen a television, and he half-closed his eyes from the sleepy sensation he had.

'You've died once before.' he thought calmly, 'Just enjoy the ride. It'll be over again soon.'

* * *

Meanwhile, feeling quite pleased with themselves, the members of the newly created Incorporated Affiliated Alliance huddled together around a single candle, all dressed in black capes which covered nearly everything up. Only their pale hands, glowing orange from the candlelight, poked through the opening of their capes and each pair had fingers locked tightly together. They thought that this over-all effect was pretty dramatic and dynamic. It was a pity that no-one was watching from outside the circle.

"This is meant to be a secret organisaion, right? Nobody must know about it, nobody. Not a single soul outside of this group. The candle is the only thing which knows. It is inside our circle, which is good. Now -"

"Enjolras?" asked Lesgles.

"That's Brother Enjolras. Yes what is it, Brother Bossuet?"

"What are you on about?"

Enjolras coughed rather indignantly.

"Yes, well, all you have to know is how to keep your mouths closed. Understood?"

"Yes, Brother Enjolras." chorused the other members, monotonously, like primary school children. They sincerely hoped that their leader would start to forget this title giving, as it was severely annoying when he constantly had to be correcting them.

And so, The Incorporated Affiliated Alliance was born from the ashes of the risen rebels, to make it's home in an abandoned storage facility (flour, mainly - nothing too exciting had entered that building) and to do whatever they could to be private and fully operational at all times. As we shall see later, the organisation were yet to get in the bounty hunters' way, especially a certain ex-rebel by the name of ...

* * *

"Courfeyrac! How the hell did you survive that?" Eponine exclaimed, bandaging up his shattered leg. He glared at her, as she had covered his entire face apart from his eyes.

"I am impressed. Wait until Javert gets back. Oh he'll laugh! He went to pick up a few items for me from the market ... you'll be in these bandages for a while. Well, I think you will, anyway, I'm not trained in this at all you see." she said, and began to prepare a cover for his bruised left hand. When he heard the front door slam upstairs, Courfeyrac's forehead started to perspire. How embarrassing, for Javert to see him like this!

As soon as he saw him, lying on the red sofa in the basement, Javert's lip curled in stern amusement.

"Oh, so this is how you end up when you try to do things your way, on your own? Ha! This should teach you a lesson." he remarked. Courfeyrac, had he not been disabled by the mummification process which Eponine was currently undertaking on him, would have nodded his head. Yes, he had learned something very valuable indeed; never trust Eponine's doctoring skills. No, not that; never trust her technology. No, not that either. Well, whatever it was that he had learned, he just knew that he would have to come to rely upon his new comrades. Someday.


	8. Trigger Tholomyès

The Bounty Hunters Of Paris  
  
Part Eight - Trigger Tholomyès  
  
Note : Thanks for all the nice reviews, it makes me continue writing this and makes me feel good! ^^ Don't worry, I will not stop this ... must avoid canneloni's wrath o_0;;; Oh yeah, the next part may take some weeks to appear ... I'm going on holiday so it might be pretty difficult to update or even write during that time. So don't go thinking that I've been abducted by aliens ... I'll be back!  
  
*********************  
  
The safe slammed tightly shut, and Javert turned the lock with all his strength. Courfeyrac, who was standing behind him, looked glumly on. His bandages had finally come off, after weeks and weeks and weeks and weeks, and he felt fresh as a dandelion. With a cry of might, Javert let go of the safe.  
  
"There." he said, satisfied, "No-one will be getting to that money."  
  
At that moment, Eponine chose to come sliding down the bannister of the basement stairs.  
  
"What are you boys doing?" she asked casually, yet was surprised to see a safe in the wall. It was usually hidden behind a lovely painting of a teapot, with an adorable little spout, retained by Javert from his childhood. He had painted it apparantly, but no-one was convinced.  
  
"Would you mind not sliding down there? It's a health and safety risk. I've just locked the money that Courfeyrac got from us and 'Jacques The Ripp- errrrrr' away, so that is only used in an emergency." Javert said.  
  
"But it's my money." Courfeyrac sulked, and pouted at the floor. Taking not the slightest bit of notice of this, Javert presided over their current state in the bounty business.  
  
"We still haven't captured 'V-D Vouivre' and rescued Mrs Pontmercy ..." he said, but Courfeyrac had other ideas.  
  
"Before we do that mission." he said, forgetting about the money temporarily, "We should, you know, get prepared. Am I to take it that neither of you have fired a gun before?"  
  
Both Javert and Eponine fervently disagreed, and began to rapidly tell Courfeyrac of the times when they had had guns.  
  
"Alright, alright, but I think that we have to actually be good at it in this business." he said, waving his hands about to silence them. He reached over for the latest newspaper and thumbed through the pages with references to special classes.  
  
"Here's a gun class, and it's only a few streets away. Ah, but 'Ponine, it's adults only."  
  
"Oh, don't worry about that. I'll turn myself into a woman, no problem." she smiled slyly.  
  
Neither Courfeyrac nor Javert wanted to know the details. They settled to enrol the next night, when the next class was alleged to be held. Eponine ran up to her room, which was in fact in the attic, and set about being very busy with something. Javert looked oddly at Courfeyrac, and said,  
  
"What do you think she'll do?"  
  
Courfeyrac chewed his bottom lip and glanced up at the ceiling.  
  
"I dunno, shove a couple of cushions down her dress or something." he said, "Anyway, I'm starving. Could you make me some spagetti?"  
  
It was a strange fact that it was Javert who was the chef of the establishment, as he wouldn't trust either of his lodgers to cook. He also knew where all the food and kitchen utensils were, which was handy. He was surprisingly efficient in the kitchen, and Courfeyrac, with his large appetite and crazy metabolism, appreciated this immensely. The spagetti was his favourite, and became Javert's speciality.  
  
As tomorrow grew into today, the bounty hunters prepared for their first lesson, by doing absolutely nothing. Courfeyrac suggested going out and buying their own personal guns, but Eponine was feeling too lazy. They eventually dragged her out, and they visited the gun shop. It was a dodgy, stinking hole of a shop, but it had quite a nice array of guns, from muskets and bayonets to the modern hand-guns that we are used to nowadays. Javert headed straight for a pair of pistols, finished in black, and was content to study them for a while. Courfeyrac was a lot more choosy, and was torn between a dark grey barrelled pistol and a gorgeous shiny silver hand-gun. Eponine grabbed the silver one out of his very hand, and so he ended up with the other. Although the silver gun was medium sized, Javert told her it looked far too big for her.  
  
"Have one of those smaller ones." he said.  
  
"One of the cheaper ones, you mean." she growled back, when she discovered that her gun was more expensive than his two pistols put together. After making their purchases, Javert popped into the grocery store and bought a carrot.  
  
"What was the point in that?" Eponine complained to him, and was told firmly that he was one short for the meal he was cooking that night, following their class. At five o'clock that evening, when it was still moderately bright and a light breeeze blew through the streets, they strolled to the public house, the upstairs room of which would serve as their training room. Occasionally, they learned from the instructor, they would go to a field outside of Paris to practise. One man in the class whined,  
  
"Why can't we just walk down to the Luxemburg? It's a lot closer ..."  
  
"No!" snapped the instructor, "Ve don't vant a repeat of the 'hobo- shooting' eencident."  
  
The instructor, who Eponine fondly nicknamed 'Sensei', was a middle-aged Socialist with a small, trimmed moustache. He was from the south, Nice-way Javert reckoned, and had a profound passion for weapons, as well as a profound French accent, more so than any Frenchman had ever heard. He took a liking to Eponine, and he instantly guessed her age as soon as she walked in through the door. But, as she smiled so pleasantly at him, he didn't say anything. She had put on shoes and clothes which made her look taller, and had pulled her hat low to shadow her childish face, but he insisted that she raised it for better vision.  
  
"Why do you call him 'Sensei'?" Courfeyrac asked her later.  
  
"Oh, I found a Japanese-French dictionary in the basement. 'Sensei' means 'teacher', and besides, I thought it sounded nice. He liked it, anway." she told him.  
  
"But Japan is like a million zillion trillion gogolillian ... and one miles away!" he exclaimed, elaborating the distance with his arms.  
  
An odd thing happened to Javert at the first lesson. The teacher (or Sensei, shall we call him) had an assistant, a mysterious lady who stood silently in the corner and puffed at a long, lean cigarette the whole time. She had a beret on, and it was pulled down like Eponine's had been, and had astonishingly sleek blonde hair. She had a subtle yet alluring air about her, and most of the men in the class couldn't help but glance over at her every now and again. For Javert, it was weird because he kept on getting -  
  
"Dejà-vous. Whenever I looked at her." he told the other two at dinner that night.  
  
"Ahhh ... a glitch in the Matrix." Eponine sighed, resting her cheek in her palm.  
  
"The what?"  
  
"Nothing. Nothing at all."  
  
The vision of the woman continued to haunt and prey upon Javert's mind for a whole week, and on the day of their second lesson he resolved to talk to her. Eponine had a hunch that his severe quiet spells were because of the woman, and giggled about it with Courfeyrac.  
  
"He probably has a crush on her." she said.  
  
"I wouldn't blame him. She was hot."  
  
"Hot?"  
  
"... You're too young to know about that stuff."  
  
"I'm sixteen, I'll have you know! How rude. I'm going to bed." she stormed, and headed for her attic bedroom. Coufeyrac could have sworn, if it had been physically possible, that she would have warped to her room.  
  
At their next lesson, it was clear that Javert was falling behind. Because he had his grey eyes permenantly fixed on the woman in the corner, he was not at all concentrating on Sensei, who had now officially changed his name to it.  
  
"Akkk, Meester Javerrrre, how many times must I eenterupt ze lesson becawse you make an obveeous meestake?" he complained over and over again, in his evidently strong accent.  
  
"Yes, sorry." Javert mumbled everytime, and never rectified his poor shoots or hand positions.  
  
"Ze poseetions of ze hands arrrre veree eemportant." Sensei would always tell the class, "Eet can make all ze deeferance ven shooting."  
  
At this, the lady in the corner would raise a fine blonde eyebrow, then lower it so that it disappeared from view again. At one point, she accidently coughed, and she gave her identity away to Javert. In the brief recess that Sensei allowed his pupils, he pulled Eponine and Courfeyrac into the opposite corner to the woman.  
  
"I know who she is." he whispered, "But she's supposed to be dead."  
  
"Riiiggggghhhht." Courfeyrac said. Javert gave him a cynical look.  
  
"Oh come on, you died too." he said, "Anyway, she wriggled out of a six month sentence when I was working her town. She was nothing more than a common whore, but oh no, she was still good enough for - no, never mind that."  
  
"Besides, she has a rather lovely four hundred franc bounty on her head." Eponine said. "I say that we reel this trout in while she takes the bait."  
  
"What bait is this?" Courfeyrac asked worridly, as a plan of this sort usually involved seduction - and who better than a young man to lure a young woman? Javert was no spring chicken anymore, and however much she liked to think that she was, Eponine was no boy. But he could see no option other than to play the woman at this game.  
  
"Errr ... yes. Let's tickle the mackeral a little." he said, and smiled at himself for the metaphor. Eponine rolled her eyes at him.  
  
"One; you're copying my style. Two; you tickle a trout, you know, the fish that I just mentioned." she said, then prodded Javert firmly on the arm, because he was once again staring at the woman in contempt.  
  
"Alrighty Swifty, Psycho Philippe, let's do it then." Courfeyrac said, putting his hand out.  
  
"Quit it with the bounty names already." Eponine muttered, and put her hand on top. She then put Javert's over hers, as he was still preoccupied with glaring. After a bit more whispered conversation, they resumed the lesson.  
  
"Conzentrate, for ze love of God, Meester Javerrrre, conzentrate!" Sensei screamed a few more times, and half an hour later the class dispersed. Courfeyrac shyly sidled over to the lady, puffing away in her corner, and gave her a flash of his perfect set of teeth.  
  
"Well well, Mademoiselle Instructor-lady, may I ask you a bold question? Umm, two actually. He he." he said after taking an award winningly huge gulp. The woman lowered her glowing cigarette, the smoke of which got into Courfeyrac's eyes and began to obscure his vision.  
  
"Yes?" she said. Her voice, which was blatently meant to be a mid-tone voice normally, was as low as the cigarette by her side.  
  
"I - I've noticed you these past couple of sessions." Courfeyrac said, trying to remember Eponine's script precisely to the word, "And I was wondering if you would like to umm, he he, err -"  
  
"Go back to your place?" she said immediately, pre-empting his question, "And I bet you're going to ask me my name, correct?"  
  
"Yes." Courfeyrac realised that they had gone far beyond the planned script.  
  
"It's Marie." She raised the hat off her head, and revealed her stunning face. She had the reminants of dark bags under her eyes, yet she had uncommonly high cheekbones (embellished by blusher made from red berries). She looked at him with her seductively twinkling blue eyes.  
  
"You'd better show me the way then, Monsieur." she said, and melted Courfeyrac's entire body (not literally speaking; that would have been very strange indeed).  
  
"It's nothing special down here, just, erm, a few bits and pieces I have knocking around ..." Courfeyrac said, and had to refrain from lighting a match immediately, as it would have revealed Javert and Eponine's hiding place. He knew that they were lurking underneath the staircase, where it was most shadowey.  
  
"Could you light a match, please? I can hardly see where I'm going." Marie said, feeling her way down the stairs via the banister.  
  
"Err, yes, in a minute, not while I'm walking down stairs, it's very, err, dangerous." Courfeyrac said, coming up with any old excuse (which happened to be very bad). He took her hand as they reached the floor and led her near to the hiding place.  
  
"So, what do you want to do?" he heard Marie say, just as her hand traced the length of his shaking shoulders.  
  
"Well, how about we ask my friends?" he said after taking a nervous gulp.  
  
"Arrggggghhhh!!"  
  
Eponine leapt out of the shadows like a small cat, pouncing upon Marie with one end of the rope in her fist. Javert trailed out after her with the other end. It was obvious that their actions were choreographed, as they ran around their captive with the rope winding around her body. Javert finished the effect off with a neat knot around Marie's middle, then stood back to admire his handiwork.  
  
"Why, if it isn't the whore, Fantine? I was right to suspect you, wasn't I?" he said triumphantly, as Courfeyrac clumsily struck a match and lit up a few partially melted candles on a low table.  
  
"My name is Marie." she argued, and as a sign of defiance she flicked her hair back with a quick movement of her head, her blonde locks now longer than it had been all those years ago when Javert had arrested her after she had sold her hair. It was now brushing her shoulders, and was a lot straighter apart from flicking out at the bottom.  
  
"No no, it's Fantine, I believe. Give yourself up. It will be easier for everybody that way." Javert said, using his old policing methods to draw out information.  
  
"I'll have you know," she said in a sultry voice, "That I have changed quite a lot."  
  
"Oh ho." said Javert folding his arms and giving her the same cynical look, "Indeed. Not a whore anymore? Well, no, I suppose you're not seeing as you've got this big job here, as a gun trainer's assistant. How respectable. My whole opinion of you has changed." he finished off sarcastically.  
  
Marie, no, Fantine, all at once brightened up.  
  
"Really?" she said.  
  
"No!" Javert shouted at her, insulted by her gullibility, yet pleased with himself for out-witting someone for the first time that day.  
  
"So, what should we do now?" Eponine said, smirking nastily at Marie/Fantine.  
  
"I know many means of interrogation that I picked up from my time working at the prison." Javert suggested, "The cruellest of all being the 'lemon' technique." He shuddered for dramatic effect.  
  
"How does that go?" Courfeyrac asked him.  
  
"Well, you -" Javert stopped short, and beckoned his comrades over to the corner, and whispered the technique to them. "You make a small, insignificant cut on their arm, one which any criminal would scoff at, and they'd say 'that doesn't hurt!'. Then you get a lemon, cut it in half, and press it -"  
  
"Ouch! You don't need to say anymore!" Fantine cried from her place in the centre of the room, "That's horrible!"  
  
The bounty hunters turned and frowned at her.  
  
"You could hear me?" Javert said, severely annoyed.  
  
"Well there goes that technique, then." Courfeyrac said gloomily, slumping onto the infamous scarlet sofa. Eponine, having a brief thought, suddenly clicked her fingers.  
  
"We don't need to interrogate the slut." she said, "We just need to hand her over to the cops. Although I'd like to see her BURN, there's not much we can do ... that's legal, anyway." she added, for Javert's benefit.  
  
"No no! You're bounty hunters, right? I'll help you! I wasn't at those gun classes for nothing, you know! Please give me a chance. I'll catch any bounty head you name, and you can have the money, just as long as you accept me as a comrade. I'm Trigger Tholomyès, the best markswoman in Paris!" Fantine said, looking desperately for any option other than jail or lemons. Her capters looked in surprise at each other.  
  
"Reeeeaaaallly...?" Javert said, elongating the word considerably.  
  
"V-D Vouivre." Eponine said quietly. She had a very blank expression on her face, about as opposite as you could get from Fantine's frantic, wretched expression on her contorted face.  
  
"You will seek out V-D Vouivre, and bring the money back here. That will prove your allegiance to us fairly satisfactorily." she continued, and suddenly grinned at her unusually eloquent speech.  
  
"Yeah, what she said." Courfeyrac agreed. After releasing her from her bounds, Javert hesitantly offered to supply Fantine with a weapon, one of his own black pistols.  
  
"No no, I always come prepared." she said, but instead of drawing out contraceptives *cough cough* as one may expect by such a statement, a varied collection of guns was revealed as she pulled open her trenchcoat.  
  
"Wow." Courfeyrac said. Fantine gave them each a flashing smile, and closed her coat.  
  
"I'll be off then. See you in half an hour or so."  
  
"Half an hour?! No way!" Eponine cried, grabbing on to her hat and pulling it dramatically over her ears. She recieved a sexy chuckle.  
  
"Oh, that's nothing, deary." Fantine smiled, and flew up the stairs, pulling out a revolver as she reached the top.  
  
Atop the quayside, sat Emile and Delanoe. They were taking a midnight snack break, and had brought cheese sandwiches (what else??) to help ease their night-time stomach rumblings.  
  
"Delanoe." Emile said after wiping his fingers on his cheap jacket, "I've been sensing something in the air lately, and I don't like it."  
  
"Well, you must 'uv done it ..."  
  
"No! Everyone says that, but it's actually never about farts. Stop being such a wossname ... cliché!" Emile screamed at Delanoe.  
  
"Sorry. Ya know, I've been sensin' somethin' too. Like, bad. I think somethin' bad's gonna happen, or somethin'." Delanoe said, majorly overusing the 'somethin's'. Emile then snapped his fingers dislocating about two of them in his excitment.  
  
"Got it!! We'll learn some self defence!"  
  
"Yeah, I wanna learn how ta fire a gun, Emile, please let us join a club or somethin'."  
  
"... Yeah, fine. We'll do that."  
  
As it happened, Fantine was not back in half an hour. She back in quarter of an hour.  
  
"Sorry it took so long, guys." she said, daintily dumping a bag of money onto the coffee table in Javert's parlour room, "But I just had to stop off for a bite to eat, too."  
  
Courfeyrac's jaw dropped to the floor.  
  
"A-ga-ha-ga ..." he said, as Javert searched the bag, which to his disgust resembled a swag bag, in case she had simply ripped up some old newspaper or something (Delanoe's influence, there).  
  
"It's all here." he said shortly, lowering his head regrettably. Although he was pleased by the sight of real francs, he hated the fact that Fantine had done an honest deed. "It looks as if she is trustworthy enough to join us. She must have appealed to God and reformed."  
  
Fantine shot him one of her alluring beams, and flicked her hair back again.  
  
'Even though she still retains a slutty mentality.' he thought, and sighed.  
  
"Well, shall we retire for the night?" he suggested, but Eponine and Courfeyrac had already dragged their feet out of the room. He was alone with the ex-whore. Completely alone. He was the only man in the world who would have been afraid. And he was. Deeply.  
  
"What's the matter, Inspector? You've tensed up." Fantine said sweetly, and ran her hand over his broad shoulders.  
  
"I will not condone this!" he cried, more frightenedly than angrily, and ran for the door.  
  
In the morning, Courfeyrac was happy. It seemed like the small team of bounty hunters would finally be getting somewhere, with a new addition. He searched the house for signs of Fantine, but was none apart from some writing on the bathroom mirror.  
  
Look in the safe. xx  
  
it said in rouge lipstick. He returned to basement, his practical bedroom, and lifted the teapot picture off the wall. There were two bullet holes in the lock device, and the little door swung open to reveal absolutely nothing.  
  
"NOOOOOOOOO!!!" he shrieked, and awoke the whole neighbourhood with a start.  
  
"What?" Javert said grogily, pulling on a brown bathrobe as he came down the basement stairs, followed grumpily by Eponine.  
  
"This had better be good." she said. Courfeyrac shakily pointed at the safe. They looked into its empty depths. They screamed and disturbed the peace of the street again. 


	9. Tanked!

The Bounty Hunters Of Paris  
  
Part Nine - Tanked!  
  
Note : Whoohoo! I've managed to finish this chapter before I go away ... the next part will take a while though. Man, is Fantine turning into Faye Valentine or what?? Taking all the money, trying to be alluring etc ... well, I guess this wouldn't be much of a crossover if there wasn't some Cowboy Bebop references (and there are more to come!). I know it wasn't too obvious who was who to begin with, but now that the main four are in their places it should start to make more sense. Oh, and if you don't know what I'm on about, then don't worry, it's not too relevant to understanding the gist of the story. As for proper character development ... I'm working on it! Each of the main peeps will get their moments in the spotlight at some point! Oh well, onwards and upwards, I hope!  
  
And I actually do like canneloni. Just imagine Javert cooking some ... yummm ... what an idea! And, on the subject of food, I've just got to say it. I am very proud of my lemon technique in the last chapter. Oh yes. ^^  
  
*********************  
  
At this time, Trigger Tholomyès was a wanted woman by more than one source. Not only was she on the top of the police's priority list (no, more like in the middle ... ok, fine, at the bottom), but the bounty hunters were absolutely fuming at the thought of her making off with Courfeyrac's hard earned money. Oh yes, and Sensei wanted her to come back to his lessons. She was like picture against the window at night that cannot be traced. She had dissolved like a paracetamol tablet. She had evaporated into the atmosphere like rainwater in a Paris gutter.  
  
To clarify something and to wrap up a tiny portion of the tale. As Fantine had apprehended Vouivre, she had returned the prisoner, Cosette, to Marius, who greeted his wife with immense relief. His tears had been terrential. Anyway, Fantine did not recognise her now grown-up and totally transformed beauty of a daughter, and Cosette would never in her wildest dreams imagine her rescuer to be her supposed long-dead mother. Sad, but it was bound to happen that way. Only Javert would have considered this family link, but as it had been late in the evening and he had been somewhat preoccupied, the idea had never occured to him. Perhaps they will discover the truth about each other at a later date.  
  
So, facing another duration of a penniless existance, Courfeyrac and Eponine fed into Javert's rapidly depleting savings, amounted from his many days in the service of the law. And this was only on the day following Fantine's disappearance. This was, funnily enough, the day on which she suddenly re-appeared, quite out of the blue. She stepped straight into a house of pure magma, if magma can be compared to anger.  
  
It was roughly midday, well, it was exactly midday, really. The clocks in Javert's house were notorious for being as precise as time can be. Putting that detail aside, Fantine rapped at the door with some reservations. Yet she seemed irritatingly confident to Javert, who was greeted by one of her infamous smiles when he opened the door.  
  
"A-buoy-ahh." he said, and she swept across the threshold in a new outfit of blue velvet and a white satin blouse with ruffled sleeves (not quite like Austin Powers, as she had a skirt).  
  
"Sorry for taking off so unexpectedly, darling." she purred, slowly removing her beret, "But I had some problems with the shop assistants. You would not believe the nerve -"  
  
"Unexpectedly? Shop? Nerve? Where's my money, that's what I would like to know!" Javert cried, alerting Courfeyrac and Eponine to the situation in the hallway.  
  
"Argh! It's her." Eponine groaned, and gave her new clothes a disgusted grimace. Fantine looked down her nose at the girl, before rearranging the ruffles in a more even way.  
  
"I'm afraid to say that this outfit did not help the money situation ... I wasn't going to spend all of it, that would have been presumptious, but I quite possibly went to the most expensive boutique in all Paris ... et voila, this is the best that seven hundred and fifty francs can buy ..." she said, admiring her reflection in the wooden framed mirror in the hall.  
  
"Those atrocious garments could not have cost that much!" Javert said, bearing in mind that only navy blue would cut it for him, not the sea blue that Fantine was sporting. After more bickering, and with no-one simply throwing her out, the bounty hunters grudgingly accepted Fantine back into the inner circle. In the basement, all four settled down to some tasks which would become absolutely normal to them in chapters to come: Javert scanned the latest newspapers for bounty heads; Fantine lavishly applied make-up to her face, then noted down some mysterious figures and diagrams every now and again; Eponine tinkered in the corner with some odds and ends that were to be found on the basement floor; and, not surprisingly, Courfeyrac chomped away at whatever food substance there was to be had. In generally keeping themselves to themselves, the foursome achieved a sense of equilibrium and harmony within the household, and things continued peacefully in this manner for about a week. Then it was back to work catching bounties.  
  
The day that their prospects changed financially had began a bit dismally for Eponine. Sitting on the favourite red couch, she sighed heavily.  
  
"What's wrong with you?" Javert asked her impatiently, convinced that nobody in the world could have felt as bad as he did at that moment. He hated feeling broke, even though he wasn't much of a spender.  
  
"Well, I suppose that my contract is a little out of date, with these new guys hanging around." she said, her chin tilted and resting in her hands.  
  
"Contract? What contract is this?"  
  
"The one you signed."  
  
"I do not recall -"  
  
"I have proof." Eponine said, and fished out a dog-eared piece of parchment. She unfolded it carefully and handed it to Javert, who read these very words:  
  
I, Eponine Thenardier, herebye claim all moneys from bountis from this daye forward, of witch I have forgotten the date.  
  
You, Wossname Javert, herebye get no moneys but get honour and stuff like that and will be considered considdered as a good citisen for catching bad guys.  
  
Signed Eponine Thenardier  
P. Javert  
  
"What is this? Did I miss something somewhere down the line?" Javert asked her, turning the paper over and over in his hands. Eponine snatched it back, and snuggled it against her chest.  
  
"I'm going to have to add to it." she declared, and rushed over to a desk covered top to bottom in cobwebs. Over the scratchy scribbling of her pen, Courfeyrac called down from the ground floor.  
  
"Hey, Psycho Phillipe! I need some spagetti! I'm hungry!"  
  
"Can't you wait until the rest of us eat?!" Javert bellowed back. He was getting slightly bored with cooking the same old dish nearly every day. Perhaps he should try those cheesy tubey things, canneloni ...  
  
"Finished!" Eponine said, waving her wet contract in the air for all to see, "Now I just have to get those suckers to sign it."  
  
Javert looked at the extension that she had just compiled, and was amused by what he read:  
  
You, Corfayrack, herebye get no moneys or honour but do get full acsess (but not excloosive) to the basement in Wossname Javert's house. Thats abowt it, becos becuz I can't think of anything else.  
  
And you, Fontine Tholololomanamies or wotever it is, herebye get no moneys or honour or full yaddi yaddi yadda, but get to think up all our stratejies for capturing bountis, which we put into pracktice.  
  
Signed  
  
"I don't know how you're going to make them sign this." Javert said honestly, handing the parchment back and preparing to go up to the kitchen where dinner awaited him. Eponine followed him all the way up, re-reading her contract while trying to let the running ink dry. Javert assembled all the ingrediants for his acclaimed spagetti, complete with the Italian recipe book that Eponine had discovered along with the French-Japanese dictionary, and gave his fingers a prelimary stretch before commencing. He viewed his cooking as art, whereas Courfeyrac saw it as dinner. Eponine, who was never particularly hungry due to her months of starving in the Gorbeau tenement, observed the cooking with little interest.  
  
"Well, I'll have to find a way, won't I?" she said indignantly, sticking out her lower lip and jamming the parchment into her pocket.  
  
As Courfeyrac belched in supreme satisfaction, and laid down his tomato and basil sauce covered fork, Fantine promptly pulled out a newspaper from underneath the dining table. She had requested only half a portion, and so had finished her dinner quite quickly. Since Eponine had contented herself with some ice-cream from an unknown source for her full meal, she had also laid her spoon down early. Only Javert remained eating, methodically and without a singke drop of sauce or a stray string of spagetti escaping on the route between the plate and his mouth.  
  
"It is rude to read at the table." he said, frowning at the newspaper. Fantine continued to read, yet managed to answer him with all the natural grace of someone who was looking at him directly in the eye.  
  
"It won't be when we get some money out of it."  
  
"Can I get fourteenths?" Courfeyrac said, showing his empty plate around the table.  
  
"Oh, so you're going to keep your hands off it next time? You're not going to steal it, eh?" Javert said scornfully to Fantine.  
  
"Excuse me, but I earnt some of that money too! It wasn't all yours to protect!" Fantine retorted.  
  
"I'll get it myself then." Courfeyrac said, rising to go to the kitchen area.  
  
"But not all of it was! That is surely the point. When you joined us, came into MY home, used MY resources, you - Courfeyrac sit down, there's no more in the pot - you were offering your services and earnings in return." Javert said, ticking off the points on his fingers.  
  
"Are you sure there's no more in there?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Look, I've found a guy in here who's worth FIVE HUNDRED FRANCS - think of it, over a hundred each!" Fantine reasoned, passing the newspaper over to Javert. While they had been arguing, Eponine had slipped her contract over to Courfeyrac's place. She had told him to sign it, and without question, he did. He was far too interested in his hunger to concentrate on this.  
  
"Good God, you're right!" Javert exclaimed, skimming through the bounty's profile, "Well, I suppose we could -"  
  
"But I'm still huuuuunnnnnggggrrry." Courfeyrac whined.  
  
"For heaven's sake, be quiet about that over-active stomach of yours for once!"  
  
"Take some interest in your work." contributed Fantine.  
  
"Oh, like you and your spending sprees?" Courfeyrac shot back.  
  
"We've just been through that. We'll let bygones be bygones." Javert said.  
  
"That's not the tune you were singing earlier!"  
  
"Get with the current status of the conversation, Courfeyrac!" Fantine said, taking the newspaper back and rolled it up.  
  
"Don't tell me to -"  
  
"Just shut up!" Fantine cried in exasperation, whacking him over the head with the paper.  
  
"Ouch!"  
  
"Less violence, please, less of it!" Javert told his practical lodgers, keeping a wary eye on the newspaper and the valuable ornaments on the mantelpiece behind Fantine.  
  
"Mmmmm, I like the ickle bunny ... mmmm ... can I have ... umph." Eponine said. The other three inquisitively craned their heads towards her.  
  
"Is she asleep?" Fantine said.  
  
"I think so, yes." Javert said. He and Courfeyrac shrugged in unison. Fantine scoffed at them, watching the slumbering girl to her right.  
  
"Your petty arguing probably sent her off." she said, prodding Eponine with the paper. Her head lolled around over her rising and falling chest, her hair spilling over her shoulders in a mass of wavy locks.  
  
"So, setting this so called pettiness aside, what shall we do about this bounty?" Javert said, tired with endlessly battling against these weaker minded fools. Unconscious to the world, Eponine slumped forward into her ice-cream bowl.  
  
"It is a fact." Fantine explained, as Javert gave the inn's sign a dubious glance, "That nibnety percent of bounty heads can be sourced straight to places such as this. I can assure you that we will find this guy."  
  
"It's also a no-brainer since he's conveniently called 'Beer Breath'." Eponine murmured, groggy from her cat-nap earlier yet still maintaining her gift for generally keeping one or two steps ahead in the wit department.  
  
"Well, we shall see." Javert said, and led the way inside. It was a partcularly smoky, sweat-inducing inn once inside, exaggerated by the humid summer night. Some men were playing their own unique cut-your-throat-if-you- beat-me version of billiards, puffing away on cigarettes while a small boy with an ashtray balanced on his head scurried around them, catching all the ash.  
  
"I feel dizzy." Eponine said, tears rolling down her cheeks from the smoke. Fantine, a smoker herself, was quite unaffected. She slinked over to the bar, where a lone drinker was collecting brandy, wine and beer glasses as he gulped down the contents in mere seconds. He smiled toothlessly, breathing out a cloud of cigarette smoke as Fantine approached.  
  
"Say, missy, can I get you a -"  
  
"A fat load of money, yes." Fantine said, pulling out her favourite hand- gun and raising it to his head. Courfeyrac ran over to her.  
  
"What are you doing? Is this him? How do you know? Why cause a scene?" he hissed.  
  
"It's him all right. Trust my judgement a little."  
  
Courfeyrac tried not to laugh out loud.  
  
"Fine, I won't." he said with an increasingly red face. The supposed 'Beer Breath' raised his hands like the caught criminal that he was.  
  
"Look, all I'm doing is having a drink here ... errr ... about twelve drinks really ..."  
  
"Thirteen." Eponine said, coming over to the bar, her feet naturally dragging along the floor as she walked. Fantine replaced her gun, removed the smoking cigarette from between the man's fingers and took a slow drag.  
  
"Come along. We're taking a trip to the policey-wicey post to get a bounty- wounty. Be a good drunk and don't make a fussy-wussy." she said, as if she were addressing an infant. It seemed as though Beer Breath did not appreciate this treatment one bit.  
  
"I may be completely sozzled, lady, but I ain't that stupid. I have a degree in neuro-chemistry, well, I would if there was a course for it." he proclaimed proudly. Sensing the resistance a wine bottle's length away, Fantine dropped the cigarette and retrieved her gun.  
  
"Fascinating. Come."  
  
"Excuse me, Miss? Miss, did you stamp out that cigarette?" the lazy barkeeper of the inn asked her, looking round from a poker game in the middle of the room.  
  
"No, but why?"  
  
"Because you've set my inn alight."  
  
"JESUS! So I have! Wow, I can dance on flames." Fantine said, giggling.  
  
"I think the dance had better stop." Courfeyrac said, pulling her away as the inn emptied of people and filled with even thicker smoke than before.  
  
"Where's Psycho Phil?" Courfeyrac called to Eponine above the sound of the rampant flames. She whizzed her head around the room, but saw no-one.  
  
"The bathroom, I'll bet." she shouted, and hopped over and around the groups of fire, which sent off sparks of white that nicked at her coat and face. It was unusual for a girl, bursting into the men's toilets.  
  
"Javert?! If you want to live to pee another day GET OUTTA HERE!!" she screamed at him as he hoisted up his trousers faster than anyone had ever done in the history of the world.  
  
"Lord, it had better be a fire or a meteor or some catastrophe of that nature." he told her angrily. Nodding in confirmation, Eponine grudgingly took his unwashed hand and prepared to lead him through the burning carnage.  
  
They burst out into the cooler air of the night, relievedby the sight of Fantine with her gun pressed to Beer Breath's temple and Courfeyrac wringing his hands in concern. The barkeeper, who like many men of his trade of the day was also the owner, was sorrowfully watching his home and business become engulfed into a glowing oblivion. The cause, Fantine, was acting as if nothing was happening, and began to take her prisoner away.  
  
"I'll meet you back at base soon." she said, and made herself scarce. Catching his mental breath back, Javert pulled Eponine aside while Courfeyrac ran around trying to find some water to control the fire.  
  
"You just saved my life." he said sadly, "The second time that my life has been spared by a criminal."  
  
Eponine glared at him, and disgustedly wiped her hand on his great coat.  
  
"So grateful. Typical copper." she said, missing out the 'ex' part on purpose. It successfully made him flinch.  
  
"But through the time we've spent together, I've realised. I've concluded that, to be honest, you are a truly decent soul underneath it all. It takes a lot out of me to say so, but I mean it. So, what I should say is ... thank you."  
  
"Thank you?"  
  
"Thank you."  
  
"Hmm, a simple thing to say to someone who risked it all for you ... but, coming from you, it's enough." Eponine grinned, rubbing the sore patches on her face from the sparks. They found Courfeyrac with an empty bucket, who ditched it in the arms of the barkeeper, who's tears could have easily filled it up. They made their way to Javert's house, slightly on a high from the prospect of more money coming in, and eagerly sat in the basement awaiting Fantine's triumphant return. By five o'clock the next morning, their smiles had faded into ashes like that of the pile of rubble that was the former inn.  
  
"She's not coming back, is she?" Courfeyrac said eventually. 


	10. Thesis Of A BrainBox

The Bounty Hunters Of Paris

Part Ten - Thesis Of A Brain-Box

All the candles were to be blown out accordingly. Yet the assistant had neglected one near the entrance of the office. Complaining about their incompetance under his breath, the Mayor of Paris used an ornamental snuffer-thing (whatever they're called) to extinguish the solitary flame. That, and so he thought, the rebellion which had taken weeks to clear up after. The national guards' funerals had been and gone, and all evidence of rebels had been eradicated. Even their bodies had inexplicately faded from the scene of their barricades. The Mayor, a man who took things as literally as possible, was content to accept the unexplainable disappearance with no questions asked - a disappearance was better than an appearance, or so he put it. In the darkness of his familiar office, the Mayor rubbed his hands together in satisfaction.

* * *

On the other side of Paris, a lone walker made their way to a secret place of which we cannot divulge. Let's just describe it as an abandoned house that looked empty, but was actually far from it. This figure was, almost unsurprisingly, dressed completely in black, the folds in the robe becoming more acute then wider in the wind of the evening. At the porch of the house, a similarly cloaked shape greeted the other with a simple nod.

"Password?" they said, fingering the bayonet they had propped aginst their leg.

"Ah, now I know this. Last week it was 'seaweed', but then it got switched to 'gin and tonic'. And yesterday it was changed again to ... err, don't tell me ..."

"Provaire, if I didn't know it was you under that stupid cloak I definately wouldn't tell you." Lesgle sighed, stepping away from the door, "It's 'frogspawn' now."

"Yes! That was it. Silly me to forget. Why don't we ever have rhyming ones? I'd remember them better then." Jean Provaire mused, stepping into the ominous building. Lesgle fished out a crumpled list from his cloak, and ticked off Provaire's name with a pencil. The only remaining name unmarked, unsurprisingly, was Grantaire's.

"I'll find him. He's probably in that pub down the road." he said to no-one in particular, and wandered off down the street.

* * *

On yet another side of the city, a woman was in trouble. Big time. It was Fantine, and she shyly entered Javert's house. Eponine growled at her menacingly from the base of the stairs.

"... sorry." she said, and ripped off her beret miserably. But what sort of reception did she expect? First time: very angry. Second time: enough to scare all four of the horsemen of the apocalpse rigid. If Eponine had been a dog at that moment, she would have wrenched her leg off with her jaws. Fantine had to dash past her to reach the landing, but before she got there, a piece of paper was flung upwards.

"Sign and I forgive." Eponine said simply. It was her contract, almost complete yet missing one signature. "Then again, I'm not sure whether you'll be sticking around here for very long. I'm nothing compared to Courfeyrac, and as for Javert, well, kiss your but bye-bye."

"Alright alright." muttered Fantine, who grabbed a pencil from her coat pocket and signed in haste.

"Go down to the basement if I was you. You could get some peace to work out your apology program there." Eponine suggested, and crawled up to the attic. Fantine never spied the crafty grin on her face. She shook her hair, flinging out droplets from an oncoming raincloud she had encountered on her route. A crack of pure white lightning split the sky outside the window. Shuddering, Fantine went to the kitchen and took a candle from the sideboard. Plodding down the stairs, she began to almost feel remorseful. Stupid, stupid, stooopid, she thought. Then came a cry of surprise as, for a second time, a coarse rope snaked around her body.

"Well well, look who I caught." Javert said, his face obscured by the dark. He pushed her onto a solitary chair, and tied her to that for good measure. Nice knot, as always, included.

"You took the money, didn't you? I'd say you were guilty as the devil." Javert said in a low, calm voice.

"No no, it was stolen right out of my pocket on my way home!" Fantine protested, struggling against her tight restraints.

"We know it was you who spent it all. Now you must be punished. Any questions?"

"Don't, please don't! No! It's not -"

"None, then. Let us proceed."

Fantine heard the faint sound of a knife on wood, perhaps slicing through something. An idea was flicking through her mind, but she wasn't certain. Javert had turned around to do something, but as the the only light was that of the summer storm in the window in front of her, she couldn't make much out. Javert then turned back to her, and she could just about see his face. His teeth flashed, and he was a tiger, growling in triumph. He raised his right hand so that it was silhouetted in the window. A few streaks of lightning illuminated the object in his grasp, and she knew that her hunch had been right. It was a piece of lemon. She screamed in absolute terror, as he advanced with a knife, and made a slit with it in her trembling arm.

* * *

Lesgle dragged a protesting Grantaire into the heat of the night.

"Meeting. Enjolras will be cross." he said, and hauled him around a street corner.

"But I want more -"

"Look, I bought you a bottle. You can have that to keep you going - don't know how long it'll last, mind ..."

On the way back to the HQ, they passed a particularly grand residence. Lesgle well knew the owner, one Marius Pontmercy, who we all know as a former comrade of his. Leaving Grantaire propped up on the rain-polished iron railings, Lesgle hopped up the steps to the admirable front door. It held two exquisite stained glass panels inbetween fine oak strips which made up the most solid part of the work of art. Lesgle, being who he was and not being an aristocrat in any way, shape or financial position, was afraid to touch it. It took a lot of effort to even lift up the knocker. He let it fall gently onto the door. Almost immedately, it was flung open.

"Who? There?" said the butler, whose every word was a single question in itself.

"Good evening. May I speak to the master of the house?"

"Didn't? I? Say? No? More? Salesmen? Clear? Off??"

"It's quite alright, Emeric, I know this gentleman." Marius said, appearing behind his incompetent butler.

"I wouldn't go round calling people like me gentlemen." Lesgle said in all seriousness. "You're respectable now. I'm still a renegade who feels about thirty years older than he actually is." He rubbed his head in thought. "Well, that's how I feel around my fellow students at times." he added a shade quieter.

"Please, my friend, come in for some tea." Marius said, standing aside.

"Err, I really cannot stop. I've got to take Grantaire along to the mee - bar." Lesgle corrected himself.

"Dear Bossuet, I do know of the IAA and your secret meetings. Enjolras has already contacted me. I was even thinking of coming along soon. Plus," Marius smiled, "The black robe was a giveaway."

"Hahaha."

"I'll tell you what, Bossuet." Marius whispered, glancing over his shoulders for signs of Maurice or Cosette, "I'll join you tonight. I can make an excuse to Cosette - although, I hate lying to her ..."

"Oh no, don't trouble yourself, Your Baronship. It would be better for you if you didn't get involved with -"

"I'll just fetch my overcoat. It looks as though rain is on its way." Marius said, oblivious to Lesgle's warnings. Grantaire hiccuped loudly from several yards away. Lesgle looked up at the heavy blanket of sky, thickened by approaching clouds.

"Things are getting exciting now, aren't they." he said to himself.

* * *

"OUUUUCCCCHHHHIIIIEEEESSS!!" screamed Fantine.

* * *

Enjolras lit the last within a large circle of candles. The atmosphere was gloomy yet enlightening. Well, only to him. Everyone else thought it was just plain gloomy. Combeferre was very put-out by the lack of suitable lighting. He had been unanimously elected as the secretary and therefore was lumbered with all the paperwork. This he revelled in, and could usually be seen shuffling documents and scribbling notes whilst sitting in empty cafes. They had to be empty, of course, so that no-one got scent of the IAA and sniffed the members out. Combeferre knew that it would dampen his reputation for all eternity, and so was extra cautious. Yet he had become scarily attached to his official role (whereas it had been totally unofficial in the earlier days) which was just as well; none of the others would prod the role with an unnaturally long stick.

Lesgle staggered in as everyone was settled in a circle inside the candles. He had Grantaire on his back, who was dully dropped to the floor.

"Good gracious, we were wondering what had happened to you two -" Enjolras said, but stopped abruptly as a third man came in.

"Marius!" Bahorel cried, and ran up to greet him.

"No, you're breaking the circ -" Enjolras tried frantically to stop him. Many of the others were getting too, pleased to see their easy-going friend back with them once more. Their leader was crestfallen. Only Combeferre, squinting at a document in his hand, remained sitting, unless you included Grantaire, who was lying down.

"Well, it seems as though our funds are in good shape." Combeferre said, passing the paper to Enjolras, who sighed heavily.

"It's not about the money."

"Ahh, I know that. But every little helps, hmm?"

"I'm not getting much help at the moment, that's for sure." Enjolras mumbled, his chin in his hands. But to his surprise, the members came back and resumed their positions in a matter of minutes. They even made room for Bossuet and Marius, with Grantaire sprawled out in the centre (or center, depending on which continent you're on).

"Say, where's Courfeyrac? And Feuilly and Joly? Are they part of this?" Marius inquired innocently. Enjolras's fine eyebrows shifted and creased.

"We have not heard from them since the barricades." Combeferre explained, "It's rather a sore subject with us. I ... quite miss Courfeyrac's quirky sense of humour."

"Well, I don't miss Joly and Feuilly one bit." Lesgle said, folding his arms, "I always knew they were defective little -"

"No you didn't!" laughed Marius, as everyone else stared in shock, "You were good friends with them, remember?"

"That's how I knew who they truly were." Lesgle muttered in disgust.

"Maybe they're still ... you know, passed. Perhaps they didn't wake up! Have you considered that?!" Enjolras suggested, vexed by the route of discussion.

"Actually I did consider -" Combeferre began, but Enjolras raised his hand for quiet.

"We know you did. You always do. Never fail. But now it's on to business. Today is the first official meeting of IAA - our code-name - and let us make damn sure it'll be memorable."

"Not fer meee." drawled Grantaire from the floor.

"Brother Combeferre here has prepared a presentation on the goals that our organisation will aim to achieve." Enjolras announced, and sat back as Combeferre placed a stack of papers in front of him. He cleared his throat in a business-like manner. He wanted to get it right.

"Comrades, we failed our previous campaign to raise the current government system neatly to the ground. Well, obviously, it was not exactly meant to be. However, do not give up hope, my friends. Eh-hem. This brings me to a thesis about our situation which will carry our new plans along successfully. After careful consideration, I have concluded that this time, sooner than later I believe, it is not going to be in vain."

"Get to the point." Jean Provaire said, who was getting bored and had taken up pulling at a loose seam in his trousers, under his black robe.

"I am, comrade, err, or I was, just let me see." Combeferre did some rapid paper shuffling. "Ahh, yes, here we are. Well, as we were resurrected so to speak, we couldn't have been too far from the right idea. We have been given a second chance, and we do not intend to waste it."

"We don't?"

"Indeed we do not, Brother Bahorel. We will, instead of constructing a barricade and screaming out our wishes in public, be a more secretive society of gentlemen. Particularly Monsieur Marius, as he is ... so, we will tackle the government from the darkness, the shadows, and when we get close enough, inside the enemy's belly."

"Yuck." said someone.

"Inside government buildings and offices." Combeferre explained, sighing.

"Ohhhh." they said, scratching their head. A general noise of approval floated up around the circle, the still air disturbed by nodding heads and pats on Combeferre's back.

"Well spoken, Brother." Enjolras said happily, and decided to end the short- lived meeting on that high-point. The noise would flood into a clamour of chatter, from which the meeting would never recover. Enjolras knew his friends far too well to risk anymore talk.

"Let us depart!" he cried over the excited din, "See you all on Tuesday night!" (When he said this, he actually meant Monday. This was in case of the prying ears of spies, who would find themselves too late when they burst in with fifty gendarmes on the day after the students had congregated.)

As they left, Enjolras sat watching the remaining flickering candles. Three had gone out entirely, and this reminded him of his missing friends. They had to be alive, he just knew it. There was no reason why they shouldn't be. Then again, knowing Courfeyrac, he would easily get by on his own, he thought with a faint smile.

"Are you alright?" Combeferre asked him.

"What? Oh, yes, I am." Enjolras was not accustomed to slipping into his own imagination. His practical mind, yes. Combeferre could distinguish between the two, and felt obliged to drag him back to reality when he was 'imagining' rather than 'thinking'.

"It is strange without them. It is not the same. Then again, it was never going to be." Combeferre said, trying to read his mind. Enjolras got up, and brushed off his robe. The room was dusty, due to its extended state of abandonment.

"With or without them, I - we will succeed. We will triumph, just as we always planned to." he said quietly. Grantaire gurgled on the floor.

"He says he believes in me. Fancy that." Enjolras translated, and helped the drunken man to his feet.

"He isn't the first." Combeferre smiled.


	11. Le Chien

The Bounty Hunters Of Paris

Part Eleven - Le Chein

Note : The dog is called 'Un' because in Cowboy Bebop it's called 'Ein' which is German for 'one', so I used the French word instead (very appropriate!). Just a bit of trivia for ya.

* * *

Due to the recent feminine addition in the house, the headquarters of the bounty hunters was moved from the basement to pretty much everywhere. The parlour became the main hangout, and Javert duly put blotting paper over the expensive seats, as accidents with drinks frequented the room often whenever Courfeyrac was around. He himself inhabited the basement, which also held a secret stash of Eponine's gadgets and inventions, including the one forlorn talkie-walkie. Apart from the basement and the parlour, Courfeyrac only really haunted the kitchen, and he would prance over to the fire and take large sniffs over the bubbling pots hanging over the controlled flames. Javert often kept to his bedroom with separate bathroom, where he would read the Bible and generally try to avoid the others. He was accustomed to peace and quiet, and there was rarely any of that due to the mindless arguments which occupied most of the day. Fantine took residence in what came to be known as the 'boudoir', which was in reality the spare bedroom. She was, in fact, a meticulous cleaner, and kept the household quite tidy, all except the basement which she had given up on. Lastly, Eponine had the converted attic as her domain, a great lookout post and a place which granted much opportunity for privacy. She much prefered it to sleeping underneath smelly bridges over the Seine. Javert was certain that she kept cats up there, as he could sometimes hear their mewings late in the night. The next morning, he would grab the broom out of Fantine's hands and bang with it on the landing's ceiling, yelling,

"I know about your little smelly pets! Get them out of my house!"

Eponine never made any reply, and she would trudge down to the kitchen to receive her breakfast in silence. Since she kept the key to the attic door in a rather private place, Javert had no means of taking any action against the cats which may or may not have existed.

Javert, Courfeyrac and Eponine were willing to forgive-and-forget one last time - after Fantine's 'punishment' she had no chances left to ruin. With every bounty caught - of which there were few - Javert would keep a very close eye on the money accumulated. She didn't, up to this point in the story, take any more.

And up to this point in the story, Javert had had no visiters of his own come to the house. This all changed on a day in early August. He was lazily skimming through the morning's newspaper when Eponine shouted from the hallway.

"There's two coppers to see ya." She was still half-asleep. As he entered the hall, confused by the appearance of policemen, he was mortified to see Eponine's attire.

"You're in your NIGHTSHIRT!" he hissed at her in disgust, and promptly shooed her away to get dressed. (Javert's extreme morals may seem rather ... well, extreme, but in those days it was quite normal. Apart from all the prostitution and stuff. Urggg.) He greeted the two gendarmes at the door.

"How may I help you, gentlemen?"

"Monsieur Javert? We have been requested by the Prefect Monsieur Gisquet to come and speak with you on an extremely urgent matter." one said in a dignified manner. Even some lowly gendarmes made an effort.

"He he, I recognise you! You were an Inspector 'bout a month back. Kicked me in the leg once for 'insubordination' once, do you remember Javert, eh? There was a mutiny 'bout the quality of the report writing paper -"

"Be quiet, Georges!" said the first one. Georges grinned rebelliously. Javert had always had something against that grin. It lacked the orderliness necessary for a policeman's role.

"And what does the Prefect want from me?" Javert asked, letting them inside.

"Well, he caught wind that you were a bounty hunter. What a career change, eh? Bet you get to see a lot more action in this job, eh?" Georges said, poking him playfully with his elbow. Javert considered this.

"No, not really."

"But who was that girl, eh? That very young, virginal, almost nothing more than a twinkle in her father's eye kind of GIRL, eh?" Georges said.

"God knows. Some little brat who I ran into one unfortunate day." Javert explained, hoping that Eponine was not around to eavesdrop on that part.

"Setting that irrelevance aside." the other gendarme said firmly, "We have a favour from the Prefect for you. Dreadful affair, really. Eric Sebastian Pierre Gisquet III has gone missing."

"Oh dear. I am sorry to hear that." Javert said. He pondered on this for a moment. "Who is Eric, err, this person? His son? Grandson? Nephew?"

"Worse; his dog. Haha." Georges said, and was obviously finding the whole situation relatively amusing.

"Ah." Javert said, "Riiiight." He had not known of the dog's existance before, nor his apparant importance.

"His Prefectness is certain that you'll be able to track him down. I'm sure it'd be no problem, eh? He did say to us that you always reminded him of a sniffer-dog ..." Georges said slyly.

"Really? How?" Javert said, puffing out his chest proudly. Compliments from Gisquet were a rarity, well, where he was concerned they were anyway.

"He said that your face reminded him of one. Haha." Georges grinned widely.

"Georges! I do apologise, monsieur. Here is a picture of the dog, err, I mean, Eric." his collegue said, producing a small pencil sketch. It portrayed a happy looking spaniel with an oversized ribbon tied neatly around its neck.

"The bounty for the kidnapper is four-hundred francs. Good luck, monsieur." the gendarme saluted politely, "We'll see ourselves out."

"Cute, ain't it, eh? Buh-bye!" Georges waved, and they both left. Javert let the drawing slip to the floor. Had it really come down to this?

* * *

Woof woof.

"Shut up in there!"

Woof.

"SHUT IT!"

Sniff.

"You really shouldn't keep it in a box like that. It has to breathe." said a woman's voice, that had once been soft and light. Now it was hardened, the type that can only come about from years of city life.

"I don't care. As long as 'e meets me there. I just want rid of it." said the first voice, a man's. It had been gruff for as long as anyone could recall.

Pant pant.

"Plus it's hot inside there. Poor little thing. I'll give it some water."

"Leave it! It doesn't deserve nothing!"

"Fine, fine."

Growl.

* * *

Courfeyrac stared at Javert hard in the eye.

"A dog? With a ribbon? This is insane, it doesn't make sense. Four-hundred for some mangy mut? You've got to be joking. They've got to be joking. Even I was worth less than that!" he cried, tossing the portrait aside.

"It's not a bad drawing." Eponine commented, picking it off the floor.

"It's all a joke, Javert. Can't you see that? Your old work-mates are simply playing a trick on you. Ahh, maybe they want you back." Fantine said, winking. "Whatever it is, it's a sham. Let's just forget it."

"Hey, do you realise how much money is at stake here? What if it is true? Why would policemen lie? Well, errr, that was a silly comment - sorry Javert - but it wouldn't make any sense. Is the Prefect really that crazy?" Courfeyrac said.

"Yes." Javert answered honestly.

"Yes, Inspector Jiffy-bag. Haha." Eponine said, confirming this point and doing a decent impression of Georges rolled into one.

"Well, I'm going after it, whether any of you are or not. Madam here has made her decision clear, so what do you two think?" Courfeyrac said, standing. Javert and Eponine exchanged apprehensive looks.

"No, I think I'll sit this one out. Too many bad memories, and things." Javert said distantly, and went to get a glass of water.

"I'll help you out, Cour-Cour. I like dogs." Eponine said, using her new nick-name for Courfeyrac, who smiled half-heartedly. Fantine folded her arms and shook her head. She was quite looking forward to their disgrace when they found out it was all a hoax.

"Go, go. I'm not going to argue with you anymore." she said. The hall clock struck a tuneful nine o'clock.

"We'll be back by the end of the day!" Courfeyrac called to Javert, and he and Eponine ran out of the house.

"What about gun class tonight - I, urrghh ..." Javert said to the cabinet which Eponine had just been standing in front of.

* * *

Pant pant.

"It really is hot in there. Please let it out for just a minute."

"You're trying my patience, Gisele. For the last time, no!"

Whhhiiinne.

"Shut up! I'm just going to the bathroom. Do NOT let it out. Do ya hear me?"

"Yes, yes."

The man went off into another room.

"Here you go. Don't tell anyone I let you out." said the woman.

Wag wag, went the tail.

* * *

It was market day along the Seine, and a string of peddlers and craftsmen and grocers and all tradesmen lined its banks. Eponine turned up her nose whenever they passed a fish stall.

"I can't stand it. They look like they did when they were alive. Yuck." she said. "Besides, they stink to high heaven."

It was August, nearly a month since they had died. The city had resumed its face-paced life, and one could not have imagined the horrors it had witnessed not so long ago. As Eponine and Courfeyrac ambled past a flower- seller, she smiled fondly.

"That's little Dedy." she told Courfeyrac, "I used to help out her family from time to time, selling flowers by the Pont-Neuf. I was the best flower- girl in town, and the best part was not getting nicked by the cops. It's an honest trade. Once, the family had a bad season and they had no flowers to sell. They asked me to provide some. Sold a lot of those, even managed to persuade a copper or two to take some home to their wives. Trouble was, they were stolen. Got them from some fellows garden. You see, I watered his garden one time. I decided that he needed to return the favour." she explained.

They approached the Pont-au-Change, where the stalls began to filter out.

"That's where he did it." Eponine said.

"Who did what?"

"Javert jumped."

"Ah."

"He told me, when it was just the two of us bounty hunting." she sighed, "I still don't understand why. Well, if he hadn't, we proabaly wouldn't be here doing this today. Not that we were expecting to or anything ..."

Just as she stopped speaking, a streak of black and white raced past them. A woman and a man trailed behind it, trying to gain on it as they ran. Courfeyrac whipped out the portrait of the dog.

"That's it! Eric blah blah doodah III! Let's go!"

"Here's a talkie-walkie. Mark twenty-four. We'll be in touch." Eponine said, handing over a smaller black box than the last time. Courfeyrac scowled at the device and set off. The dog had gone over the bridge and looked as though it was heading in the direction of Notre-Dame. The woman had stopped to rest. A surge of nineteenth century tourists, not equipped with cameras as they do nowadays but with a mass of parasols, top-hats and coat-tails, blocked the man's path. The dog was now out of sight. Courfeyrac, with no regard for the upper classes, slammed into the crowd. Screams deafened him as he fought against the ladies' ridiculously lavish dresses which, being about five foot wide each, posed a serious problem. By the time he had battled against the dresses and their frightened owners, he had a bruise on his forehead and a hatpain stuck in his arm.

"Ow." he said. The dog was wagging its tail mockingly.

"Hey! Get that mangy mut!" cried the other male pursuer. He had also made it through the crowd of gentry. The dog growled at him, turned on its heel and waddled around a corner. The man looked at Courfeyrac in disgust, and made off after the dog. Courfeyrac waited for a moment, then realised that he was also involved in the chase. Once he was around the corner, he found the dog cowering by the wall of a house, the man towering over him, hands on his hips.

"Ah-ha, now who looks stupid?" the man said in truimph. But the little dog was not about to give up. The dog skipped through his legs, out the other side, did a victory dance of running around Courfeyrac in circles, and took off again.

"Dammit! Get back here!" the man cried angrily.

"Clever dog." Courfeyrac muttered, and as he ran he pulled out the talkie- walkie. "'Ponine! Are you there?"

"Just about, Cour-Cour." said Eponine's voice, panting somewhat.

"I'm losing sight of the dog! There's some other guy chasing it as well. Are there any bridges coming up?"

"Yes, about fifty yards away."

"How do you know?"

"I can see you. I'm on the opposite bank."

"You sure do come in useful. I'm going in." Courfeyrac told her, and replaced the talkie-walkie. Now was his minute of glory, his brief moment to shine. He just wished that Fantine and Javert could see his display of courage and skill ...

As soon as it was humanly possible, Courfeyrac jumped up onto the ledge that ran inbetween the pavement and the river, and leapt across to the bridge. Caught up in the hunt, the other man did not even notice. Struggling to gain some sense of balance and dignity, Courfeyrac hoisted himself over the bridge's parapet and landed in front of the man. The dog stopped at the other end of the bridge, and yelped in surprise as Eponine scooped him up in her arms. The woman, Gisele, who had been lagging behind, came up behind the man.

"Maurice! Who is this? Who's that with the dog?" she said, tugging feverishly at his sleeve. The man, Maurice, snarled at Courfeyrac, who balled up his fists in response.

"Stand aside! Get away from that mut!"

Courfeyrac shook his head determinedly. He was prepared to fight for four hundred francs. Without warning, Maurice launched himself at him, fists ablazing and arms full of strength. He was a lot taller and muscular than Courfeyrac, and Eponine gritted her teeth for him. The dog was sitting quite contentedly in the crooks of her arms.

Maurice flew a punch, but Courfeyrac kicked his hand away. As they fought, Gisele considered retrieving the dog from the girl across the way, but seeing how happy he looked made her reconsider. When Maurice had Courfeyrac in a strong head-lock, little Eric felt that he had to react. He sprang from Eponine's arms and padded over to Maurice's ankle, which he promptly bit.

"Yeeeeeoooouuuuzzaa!" Maurice screamed, letting Courfeyrac go immediately. As he hopped around madly, the anger boiled up in his rugged face. Courfeyrac, by now, was fearing for his life (well, second life). His lip was cut and bleeding down his chin. Observing the situation, Eponine knew that escape was the only tactic they had left. She sprinted over to the scene, picked up the dog, grabbed Courfeyrac's bruised arm, and pulled them over the bridge. It happened so quickly, and both Maurice and Gisele were preoccupied with his injured ankle, that neither saw where they went.

"Dirty magic ..." Maurice murmured as he limped off in a supreme huff.

Down in the water, Courfeyrac's head emerged, followed by the dog's.

"Did you do that?" he asked him, half expecting an answer. The water beside him suddenly erupted.

"Phew, that was fun." Eponine said, rearranging her sopping wet fringe.

* * *

"It cannot stay here!"

Javert was exchanging stern words with Courfeyrac that night, and glaring at the dog playing with Eponine on the parlour floor.

"Your real name is too long and complicated. I will call you Un." she told the dog. Javert glowered.

"Oh dear lord, she's named it. Well, first thing tomorrow morning I'll return it to its rightful home." he declared, settling down with a newspaper.

"Aww, you have to. I know I went to all that effort to catch him, but ... he's kinda cute. Loveable. Amiable, at the least." Courfeyrac said, his finger in his ear. Water was still dripping out and Javert's words were a little blurred.

"It's four hundred francs. Not even Fantine can blow this up in our faces. This is the most we have been offered ... ever!" Javert was saying, uncharacteristically waving his arms around.

"Ahh, but who's to say he won't be of use to us in the future? He's a charming dog." Courfeyrac chuckled.

"Alright, alright." Javert sighed, "I'll give it until tomorrow evening to prove its worth. But if not ..."

"Fine. Just you wait. You'll learn to love Eric - I mean, Un." Courfeyrac said.

By the next afternoon, Un's trial period was cut short. Unfortunately for Javert, not in his favour. Eponine threatened to set fire to the house if Un was removed. Reluctantly, Javert complied to her wishes. Afterwards, he moaned to Courfeyrac in the kitchen.

"The little heathen has already shredded my best armchair in the parlour, not to mention all the times he's managed to soil the carpet!" Javert said indignantly. "What did I tell you, Courfeyrac, what did I tell you?"

"What did you tell me?"

"I don't like children, animals and women with attitude. So ..."

"So?"

"WHY DO I HAVE ALL THREE IN MY HOUSE??"


	12. Sing In The Big City

The Bounty Hunters Of Paris

Part Twelve - Sing In The Big City

Note : Apologies for spelling 'chien' wrong in the previous chapter. I learned German rather than French at school and because I used 'ei' rather than 'ie', I guess I was thinking auf Deutsch. Lame excuse I know, but there it is.

I can't believe that next chapter I'll be halfway through this whole fanfic! Things are hopefully going to get more exciting, and, as some have predicted, possibly a little darker ... but my attempt at humour, of course, will remain throughout. I personally like this particular chapter because now that I go back and read it the lyrics to the song are quite hillariously awful! Oh, and when I was on the plane coming back from my holiday I drew a picture of Eponine with her pea-shooter/dart-shooter thing ... it wasn't bad for someone with jet-lag, but all my parents commented on were her 'scary eyes' (by the way, this will make more sense when you've read the chapter). --' Oh yes, and the next chapter may be a little while, due to a trip to Rome, so I'll try to make it good when it actually gets written!

* * *

Emile and Delanoe had been quite lucky recently. Delanoe had actually been able to catch a real fish (only, it was dead and half rotten. And green) and through selling off what they had found, Emile had amassed a decent amount of money. On a night much like any other, Delanoe turned to his friend and said,

"I think I saw Enjolras the other day."

Emile had been sipping a glass of beer which he had aquired from the pub behind them. He spat a mouthful out into his lap.

"You what?! Where? What's happening with all them?" he asked in rapid succession.

"Calm down, calm down. Look at the mess you've made of your trousers. Anyway, I saw him go into an empty house in a black cloak. I caught a glimpse of his face. He was white as a sheet, I'm tellin' ya."

"How unusual. My my, I didn't know whether to expect them to be alive too ... but I suppose there's no reason why they shouldn't be. No, no reason at all. We'd better watch our backs more closely from now on, Jo - Delanoe. We really better had."

* * *

Courfeyrac peeped around the door. To his amusement, Javert had fallen asleep in his armchair, the newspaper spread over his lap. He was lightly snoring. Beside him on the floor, Eponine was fiddling with one of her many strange creations. Un was sitting contentedly by the fire.

"Hey 'Ponine, did you know that Psycho Phil's away with the fairies?" Courfeyrac whispered. She grinned at him.

"It's what old people do. I met my grandmother when I was really young, and she used to fall asleep all the time, morning, noon or night. Shall we wake him up?"

"Nah, he'll only get grumpy." he said, and carefully slid the newspaper off Javert. He didn't stir. Breathing out cautiously, Courfeyrac looked at the open page.

"Ahh, who would have guessed that he was reading about police strikes, eh?" he said sarcastically, scanning through the articles, "But this bit, in the bounty section, is quite interesting."

"Interesting?" Javert suddenly said, his eyes shooting open. He stared suspiciously at Courfeyrac before realising that he had been asleep.

"I apologise; I had trouble dropping off last night. I may have a touch of fever. Anyway, what are you taking about?" he said, stretching his arms (which were straight, of course - he did not do bent elbows).

"Well, if we get Fantine in here I can tell you about this bounty case I just read about. It sounds very mysterious."

"Like goblins?" Eponine asked him, heading out the door to yell for Fantine upstairs.

"Yes, like ... goblins." Courfeyrac confirmed, and shook his head worriedly. He cleared his throat as the fourth member joined them. Un perked up at the activity.

"My my, a meeting, eh?" Fantine said, and flicked her hair back. She settled herself by the fireplace and lit up a cigarette.

"Yes, of sorts. There's a special case in here about the 'Siren'. And apparantly, it's a woman."

"Oh god, no." Javert muttered, massaging his forehead.

"A woman." Courfeyrac repeated, "She sings in inns and pubs in Paris, and has the ability to send the listening punters to sleep. She then splits the money and expensive items with the bartenders and owners, and simply disappears into the night ... she's worth a lot because of the sheer amount that she has stolen."

"Wow, now that is interesting." Eponine said, still occupied by her gadget. The firelight in the room flickered briefly.

"So what are we waiting for? I bet I can guess where she'll strike next." Fantine said, taking the newspaper from Courfeyrac's hands, "Ah ha, judging by her past record, I'd say in 'The Happy Frog' in the Rue de Turenne."

"How do you do that?" Javert said, frowning at her.

"It's my skill. It's what I bring to the table in this ... strange little group." she explained vaguely. It was agreed that the next evening would be 'Hunt The Siren' night, right after their gun practice.

* * *

A week previous, the contents of an entire pub lay still. All were asleep and oblivious to the world, and oblivious even to the foul-play that was going on. The owner of the establishment removed the ragged cloths that had been stuffed in his ears. His two sons, both around eighteen, were piling the customers' valuables into the alleyway behind the pub where the barrels that could not fit into the pokey cellar were kept. A figure, immaculate in silk, stood observing their prize. "This is it, mademoiselle." the owner said, loading the pile into a cloth bag for convenience. The figure graciously took the bag and checked its constituents thoroughly. "Thank you very much. Here." the woman handed over a grand sum of money in her hand, her slender fingers opening and revealing the glistening metal coins. The man appreciatively accepted the payment and set about rousing his customers. "Oh my god, we've all been robbed! They've disappeared without a trace!" the woman heard him shout. A pair of trousers and a jacket had been hidden behind one of the barrels which she now put on. The dress went in with the stolen goods. Finally, she slung the bag over her back and hurried away.

* * *

The bounty hunters met the dusk with a foul gust of autumnal wind. The summer was coming to a close for that eventful year, and less and less people seemed to inhabit the streets. Un had been left with a plate of chicken scraps in the kitchen. Javert did not think it was necessary to bring him along. On their trek to the inn, Eponine sang a song to get them in the mood;

"Out in the crowded street  
Out, out, where all the people meet  
Shall we meet together once again  
My dear, out, out in the sleeting rain."

Javert displayed his dislike of the song by grumbling about the frivolity of the minds of the youth those days. He complained that they did not teach true, religious songs full of strict praise as much as they used to. Eponine answered back by reminding him that she had never gone to school, and acerbicly thanked him for making her seem like a fool. The facade of the inn much suited its title. It was painted a sludge green, but despite this it retained a certain cheerfulness that greatly irritated Javert. Once inside, it was battle stations all round.

The Siren herself appeared on a little stage at the back of the bar area in a pink silk dress with red and white beads around her pale neck. Her hair was thick and golden, much like Fantine's had once been when it was long. Her green eyes warmly greeted all thsoe who looked into them, and she had eyelashes which made Fantine contort with envy. A man at a cheap piano struck up the tune.

"I've wasted all my life ..." the Siren sang in her mezzo tone, giving her performance mainly through hand movements. Eponine had began to sneak towards her under the cover of the tables, inbetween the chairs and through the punters' legs. She intended to weave across the room like this and, when she reached the table directly in front of the singer, she would aim at her with a dart tipped with a sleeping draft. An ancient method, but one which is timeless all the same.

"In a dream which means nothing ..." The Siren's voice dripped with remorse, and the onlisteners had to agree that she had the X-factor, or the nineteenth century equivalent. Only few can truly achieve that essence of clarity in their song. The woman had talent, it was undeniable. But Eponine and her friends would have liked nothing more than for her song to end sooner than anticipated, even sooner than the scheming Siren herself.

"I've given up on the fight ..."

It was Fantine's task to keep an extremely close eye on the Siren, for any odd signs that would give away her secret to sending her audience to beddie- byes. She was near the back of the room, but thankfully her eyesight was pretty much perfect. The bounty hunters, for once, were attempting a strategy involving logic. So far, it was seeming to work.

"My lonliness cannot mean a thing ..."

Positioned at the bar, Courfeyrac was chomping away at a bowl of peanuts, and was taking in the scent of the fatty pig revolving on the spit in the kitchen beyond the bar.

'No no, concentrate now.' he commanded himself, and pushed the empty bowl away from him. He had secured a seat close to the action, as he had suggested, because it made sense for the bounty hunters to remain seperate from each other. To make an obvious quartet of them would have been foolish.

"In the big city ..."

Who was left? Javert, of course, and he had had trouble in coming up with a useful position for himself. After making a swift trip to the bathroom, he was ready for action (not that kind, you pervert!). He stood idley against a pillar, but a disturbing flash-back came to him.

"_You can tie me up as much as you like, but you might at least let me lie on a table like that other fellow_."

No, that wasn't part of the Siren's song. It was a quotation from Javert's past. A very bad experience with a pillar. Plus a table. Oh yes, it had been embarrassing. Flushing red even months after the incident, Javert moved to the safety of the nearby wall. He had a hand on one of his pistols, and decided to stay there, prepared, should he be needed.

"All I can do is sing my hopes out ..."

The scene was set. It was all down to Eponine's single shot, and whether it hit successfully or not, they would have to be alert for the consequences. It was taking a while, and so Courfeyrac considered ordering another glass of wine. But it was not meant to be, that wine and he.

"In the big city ..."

Fantine's eyes began to water with the strain of unblinkingly staring at the Siren.

"Ahh, it won't hurt." she said as she pulled her rouge and mirror out her bag. She began applying it meticulously to her cheeks. That was the moment when it all started going hideously wrong.

"All I am doing is singing in the big city ..."

Courfeyrac had raised the glass to his mouth. Javert had coughed. Fantine had removed her eyes from the grand spectacle. This was the second that Eponine blew, and released the dart into the smoky air. As if watching in bullet time (I should stop with the Matrix references), the other three bounty hunters all turned their wavering attentions to the dart and its target. As if she was as on the ball as Eponine was, the Siren moved her shoulder ever so slightly, and the dart whizzed past her and struck the wall behind. Strangely enough, there was a dart board, or a nineteenth century counterpart, right in its path.

"Bulls-eye." Eponine muttered bitterly as she was hauled up by the drinkers at the table she was under. A woman had screamed, and some people fled the inn, drinks still in hands, courteously throwing money over their shoulders for the price of the glass. The Siren, in contrast, had fallen silent. She looked on at Eponine, hanging by the scruff of her coat in the hand of a big, burly drunk.

"What do you think you're doing, missy? Trying to murder the nice singer? That's not being a very nice girl now, is it?"

"Ain't it past your bed time?"

"Go back to your parents, you shouldn't be in a place like this!"

Thus came the taunts and accusations of the men around her. Eponine hung still in mid-air, her face glum yet unafraid.

"I am -" she started to say through clamped jaws, but Javert converged on the table.

"What are you doing with my daughter?"

He received a few scrutinising looks, one even from Eponine herself.

"This is your daughter?"

"That's precisely what I meant when I called her 'my daughter'."

"Not exactly 'Responsible Father Of The Year', are we Monsieur?" said the man holding Eponine.

"What was she doing under there, in any case?" said another. Javert looked blankly at him, and one could just picture his mind ticking over, searching for an award-winningly convincing explanation. But, as it happens every time, not a single thing sprung to mind.

"Oh, alright, you've caught us out." he said, lowering his head. "It must be time to tell everyone, mustn't it, dear?"

The drinkers and Eponine looked around for 'dear'. The Siren, still watching from her low stage, shrugged.

"Oh you, it's you, it's me, we cannot hide!" Javert cried, lunging for Eponine. He took her from the big man and hugged her slight body to his chest. She was still suspended, and was beginning to miss the feeling of ground under her feet.

"We cannot hide wha-"

"Our love, darling, our illicit love-affair!"

"Wow, now that's gossip." Courfeyrac said to Fantine, as he moved towards her and observed the intense scene.

"It's an act. Well, I sincerely hope it is." Fantine said. The drunks goggled at Javert.

"You ... her ... lurrrfffuug." one of them attempted to say.

"Is this true?!" said another.

"Of course!" insisted Javert, clutching Eponine tighter.

"Yeah, whatever." she gurgled, battling for a connection between her mouth and her lungs. She was certain that her ribcage must now be non-existant. By this time, the bartender had a dilemma. Should he summon journalists from the Moniteur to report on this in tomorrow's paper, or would it be bad publicity? Well, it wasn't as if his usual customers could read anyway. He considered calling out into the street, where there was bound to be newspaper correspondent. But the action was intensifying every second, and he found it difficult not to watch.

"You're both sick! How could you? She's only a kid!" said one of the gang of drunks.

"Yeah, I'd say!" Courfeyrac said spontaneously.

"Well, it is really none of your business." Javert defended himself, ignoring his ally's comment. Eponine began prodding him in the arm.

"Please, could you ... erk ... let me go ... errr, darling." she said, sapping all her energy with it. Carefully, Javert placed her onto the ale- and-wine-soaked floorboards. They all distinctly heard a pistol click.

"I can't stand here listening to you, you, freaks!" the Siren said, her voice more coarse than one would have initially imagined. She pointed the pistol at each of the drinkers, Javert and Eponine in turn. Courfeyrac and Fantine, stood at the bar, seemed to have escaped her notice. The bartender had long since fled, taking the pig from the kitchen with him and carrying it under his arm with some difficulty.

"Hey, don't look at us, lady!" the supposed leader of the gang said defensively. Or as defensively as someone with precisely two brain cells can manage. With this, the group of drinkers left the inn, clambering over one another and getting stuck in the doorway. The Siren was now even less impressed.

"See, look at the imbeciles that I have to put up with when I perform!" she said.

"You call that performing?" Fantine scoffed, making her presence known.

"Well well, four of you. Bounty hunters none the less. Ah, and you -" the Siren rounded on Javert, "You are a police Inspector, right? You picked me up when I was whoring on the South Bank ..."

"I remember! I caught you red-handed! Well, from what I recall, you weren't doing much with your hands ... indecent behaviour nonetheless!" Javert said, waggling his disapproving finger at her. Courfeyrac, eyeing the pistol warily, stepped forward.

"What are you going to do now, Siren?" he said, pulling out his gun. Fantine and Eponine did similarly. Javert was to busy telling her what a disgusting excuse for a human being she was.

"... in your unkempt back-rooms, filthy alleys, with the first godly man who comes innocently along ..."

"There is no way you can capture me. I may be a mere woman, but then again so are you two. You're a girl, even!" the Siren said.

"I'm sixteen and two fifths!" Eponine said childishly.

"... infecting, immoralising, doing the Devil's deeds ..."

"I'm a man, you're no match for me." Courfeyrac said, spinning his gun around on his forefinger.

"That's a good trick. Pity you can't fire it." the Siren taunted.

"Hey, of course I can!"

"Then shoot me!"

"... you should be driven by the hand of God into the blazing sun, or worse yet, yes, the depths of fiery hell where you belong ..."

"Let's just put this into perspective - shut up Javert, please - you're going to jail and that is that." Fantine said, and she advanced on the Siren. The two women scuffled, long nails tugging blonde hair, and more long nails tugging blonde hair. Javert whimpered, hating the sight of it. Courfeyrac, in contrast, found it quite humorous.

"Alright, ladies, let's get organised." he said, pulling them apart like fighting cats. The Siren hissed at her rival.

"You - I'll get you yet!"

"Nah, I don't think so." Fantine said, and ran outside to summon the police. Courfeyrac and Javert tied the Siren to a chair, and came out of the operation with numerous scratches apiece.

"Ouch, she's more temperamental than Fantine. That's a major feat in itself." Courfeyrac commented, glumly examining the wounds on his arms. She had even ripped right through his thick shirt.

* * *

When the seething Siren had been bundled out by a pair of vigilant gendarmes, who were luckily so, Eponine went up and carefully observed the wall behind the stage. A picture of an anonymous nobleman hung at an obscure angle, and his left eye looked suspiciously like a hole. She jabbed her finger into it. Indeed, it was an opening. Cautiously, she peeped through the hole at what lay beyond. What she saw made the Siren's scheme understandable. There was a tank of transparent liquid embedded in the actual wall with a glass tube leading from the top to the hole in the picture. A strange mechanism with cogs and metal bits jutting out was sat on top of the tank. Somehow the Siren had obtained some ether, used mainly for anaesthetic in operations, but had exposed the people in the pubs to a high dose of it. Eponine had once sneaked in and witnessed a leg amputation (she had thought it was a special Mozart recital by the Paris Symphonic Quartet of Strings) and she recognised the smell of the substance that had been used, ether. How the Siren herself had not been affected by it she could not work out. Whe she revealed her findings to the others, Courfeyrac laughed heartily and clapped her on the back.

"Oooh, I'm so glad that we have someone with a bucket-load of brains like our Eponine here ... how clever that Siren was, though!" he said.

"Yes, and so someone on the other side of the wall would start the mechanism and it was good-night drunks. She would probably have sent the bartenders and other workers in the place away to a different room with their fingers in their ears or something. They must ahve thought that she had some magical powers in her singing that sent people to sleep." Fantine said, catching onto Eponine's idea and continuing the thread. The four left the inn with its door wide open, since the innkeeper had not put in an appearance. Courfeyrac thought about how his old friend, Grantaire, would have died of he had known there was a whole bar full of drink unattended.

Once they had returned to Javert's house, Fantine pulled Courfeyrac aside.

"Could I have some of that money?" she asked, refering to the bounty earnings that he had stuffed in his trouser pocket, "I need some new clothes -"

"No! I know what you're like when it comes to clothes. It's expensive or none. Sorry, but this goes into the safe."

"Please, I'll only need a hundred ... fifty ... alright, twenty, and I'll get ten outfits. Then I won't have to take anymore money for a long time. Please, I'm being serious." she pleaded.

"Fine, but don't say anything to Psycho Phil. I won't either, if that seals the deal." Courfeyrac sighed, and handed over the agreed amount of twenty francs. There was something a little unnerving about her apparent obsession with money. But he was true to his word and did not mention a thing to Javert.

As Eponine retired to the attic for the night, Un at her heels, she saw Fantine leave the house. She knew better than to stop her, but was still perturbed by it. Why would she go out at this time? It was getting on for one o'clock in the early morning. But Eponine's eyelids were winning over her thoughts, and as they drooped over her eyes she decided that rational thinking could be saved for the next day. As she climbed into her bed with its rusty iron bedhead, she could have sworn that, somewhere in the distance, there was the distinct sound of a drain in the street being pushed aside and then closed over again ...


	13. Donnez, Donnez

The Bounty Hunters Of Paris

Part Thirteen - Donnez, Donnez

Note : Half way through already! Whew, it's been an experience. Oh yes. But there's still a lot more to come! I WILL carry this through to the very end ... with room for an epilogue maybe. And a prequel ... oh wait, that would be Les Miserables itself ... a sequel then. But I have to work out the ending of this one first ... actually, to be honest, I already have. But I'm not telling!

I apologise for taking so long writing this part, but I've been quite busy recently. The next chapter should not take so long ... after that I could create a Christmas special in the holidays!

Wow, Neila Nuruodo the Chiss has enlightened me to something spooky ... The link between Fantine and Faye Valentine's names (see the review for more details) is scary! I never noticed it before ... thanks very much Neila!

For all you Javert fans, the next part has much more of everyone's favourite inspector ... or ex-inspector in this case.

WARNING : This contains a lot of the slightly naughty 'C' word. The not so rude one, that is.

* * *

The 'Stacks' casino was innovative, experimental, and highly successful in its time. An underground establishment where anyone (with the exception of policemen on duty ... off duty and they were more than welcome) could happily fritter away their earnings and not think anything of it at the time. When they emerged on the outside again, however, they would think differently. The sky would frown upon them and they would go home, feeling cheated. But they'd always be back next pay-day.

The owner of this place was known as 'César O' Craps' (he resented this name) and was no stranger to a lot of the city's rougher inhabitants. He decided that opening a secret gambling area under the streets of Paris would be very profitable, but due to its popularity it wasn't all that secret. The law despised him and knew all about his exploits. The trouble was that he rarely made public appearances and he almost never came out in the daytime. The light of the sun, he said, would tarnish his dark reputation. And the strange individuals who worked for César ('Rummy René', for one) were not much different. Even the lowest criminals who prowled Paris were dubious as to their intentions. They knew all about card games, dice games, and all manner of gambling. They even raised dogs specifically for getting their throats ripped out by another poor creature.

Around the time of this tale the casino was thriving. The recent troubles in Paris had actually helped business because the depressed people needed cheering up. Although wasting their money in an underground pit wasn't the best idea, it really was their only option. César took advantage of the situation and began to advertise his business more and more. Through word of mouth mainly, but this was effective as it seemed most of his prospective clients and their circles appeared to have rather big mouths and loud voices. Soon enough, most people had heard of the casino. Respectable citizens, however, did not have any idea of where 'Stacks' was based, and nor did they want to (actually most of them did, but kept this solely to themselves). Basically, the casino went from being very hush-hush to extremely hush-hush in a 'everyone-knows-but-shouldn't' way.

* * *

"Say it. Go on. I daaaaarrrre you." Courfeyrac teased, pointing at a name in the newspaper which he was holding up. Javert glared at him, shaking his head.

"No. I will not say that dirty word." he said firmly. Eponine giggled uncontrollably from the floor.

"Saaaaay it. If you don't, I will. If we're going after this bounty then it's only right that you can say his name!" Courfeyrac persisted, shaking the page. Javert looked at it with a raised eyebrow.

"It is disgusting. Take your childish behaviour elsewhere. I could do without this."

"What's so hard about saying 'César O' Craps'?" Courfeyrac said, as Fantine came into the room. She stopped just beyond the doorway.

"What did you say?" she asked, her voice tight and her eyes wide.

"'César O' Craps'. Why, do you have a problem with mild swearing like Psycho Phil here?" Courfeyrac smirked, showing her the name in the newspaper. She shook her head wildly.

"No no, it's nothing ..." she said, and turned her attention onto the book that she carried in her hand, "I'm half-way through this. It's full of political ideas and blah blah blah ... too advanced for the likes of you three." Her slender fingers gripped the black hard-back book, complete with ominous gold lettering. Javert snorted loudly and uncrossed his legs.

"Oh, and I suppose an imbred whore like you has even the basic knowledge of politics and current affairs? Not in your most far-flung dreams. Un probably knows more than you." he said.

"Yeah, well he did used to belong to the Prefect of Police." Courfeyrac added, just as unimpressed. However, Eponine seemed the most offended out of the three of them. The flames in the fireplace behind her flickered violently to match her put-out mood.

"At least I know how to make things out of extremely innovative technology - and don't give me blank stares, guys - which is actually a useful skill. Politics and women don't mix, as we well know. It's pointless you learning about those things. Why don't you take up sewing or something?" she said bitterly, holding up her newest creation. It looked remotely like a shoe with miniature cart wheels stuck on the bottom.

"Uh-huh." Fantine said, a little disturbed, and turned a page in her book. Courfeyrac, truly the best one present at changing the subject, did his honourable duty at this moment.

"So let's go after that Crap-For-Crap guy! The bounty is five hundred. We should definately go for it." he said, then paused. Nothing stirred, apart from Un's stubby tail wagging. "Since we have been miraculously lucky in finding our last captures' locations, I am expecting a hint for Crappies' whereabouts any time now."

* * *

After dinner that evening, Courfeyrac was pulled aside by Fantine.

"We have to stop meeting like this." he said jovially.

"Why do you say that?"

"You're always pulling me aside for any inane reason you can come up with."

Fantine growled and waited until she was sure that Javert and Eponine were out of range. A minute later and all she could hear was her own breathing and the wind outside. It was mid-October now (a few weeks had passed since our last encounter with the bounty hunters), and the autumnal weather was at its peak.

"I will lead you to César. I know where he lurks." Fantine whispered loudly, pinning Courfeyrac to the wall, "But you must promise me half the money in cash when we receive the bounty money. I'm being serious, Courfeyrac. You may have that ridiculous facade of being gormless, but I know that deep down you are a free-thinker and somewhat of an intellectual when the mood takes you. I've read your memoirs. I have learnt much more about you than either of those two will ever find out. And I also discovered that you can keep your mouth shut on a lot of topics. This is one of them. Understand?"

"No. But I do understand that you have the characteristics of a money- hungry woman. What is the big deal anyway?" Courfeyrac said, shrugging, "Do you have something else to hide?"

"Yes, I do. Can you keep this secret? I'm only going to tell you because it will make this hunt for César much clearer."

"Go on then. I won't tell a soul on this earth."

Fantine released him and took a reverberating sniff.

"I have a gambling problem." she cracked, and dismissed a tear with the back of her hand. Courfeyrac, not sure whether he was going to get it back in one piece or not, put a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

"There there. It's alright. But what's this got to do with Crap-man?"

"César is his name! He owns the most confidential gambling circuit Paris has ever known. If he knew that I'd told you, his men would track me down and feed me to their dogs! He's a ruthless man, and once you enter his casino you've bought a lifetime membership from hell." she told him, looking nervously around the room and dabbing her eyes with a white lace handkerchief, "To find the casino, all you have to do is look down, look down. Hang on one moment. What are you going to do exactly? You do realise that if I get involved and we fail, they'll be absolutely merciless in their dealing with us."

"Just show me." Courfeyrac said.

* * *

It was past midnight, and Javert was in his cosy bed. Courfeyrac and Fantine were outside in the street below, but he didn't know that. He was asleep. But he tried not to make his bed too snug, and generally opted for a comfortable Spartan approach to his living arrangements. A sort of half- hearted minimalist yet cluttered style. Anyway, he was smiling as he lay on his back, his hair spread around the pillow (he only had one, but Eponine always had two because for her "blocked up noses are all too common"). Evidently he was dreaming, but there was the fact that Un was curled up on his feet to consider. Occasionally, Javert would wake up in the course of a night, and at half past twelve he was sure that he was woken by the sound of a drain opening ... he recognised that sound. He hadn't chased Jean Valjean around in the sewers without being in constant contact with drains. Yet he fell back asleep immediately, and thought nothing of it as he dreamt of his prized snuff-box which was tucked under his pillow ...

* * *

"What is this casino place called?" Courfeyrac said quietly as he tugged at the drain.

"'Stacks'. Do you happen to have any money on you ...?"

"Trigger!"

"Joking, only a joke."

The drain was open and Courfeyrac peered into the gloomy sewer underneath. It was a small, narrow chamber directly below them, and three tunnels led off different directions. Once he and Fantine had climbed down and replaced the drain lid, she motioned to take the south route. With one hand on his pistol and one in front of him, Courfeyrac followed her through the dim, dripping tunnel. He hated the atmosphere that comes with raw sewage in a dark space. It filled him with tremendous disgust from his head to approximately his shins ... his feet were too busy being wet. His shoes and socks were soaked right through with dirty water. Fantine, in contrast, was very much used to the dank by now, having been a regular customer at 'Stacks'. She knew exactly where to jump and side-step around large areas of water and where the 'creatures' lived. Courfeyrac, in the minimal light, tried to mimic her path. After a few minutes, Fantine stopped suddenly. They were standing below a drain, and the moon rays filtered through the gaps and fell across her pale face.

"What's wrong?" Courfeyrac asked her. She half-turned around.

"I ..." she began softly, "I wasn't always like this. Once, a long time ago, I was a shy girl who would never dream of doing anything against God's will. I dreamed of things far greater than I ever achieved in my varied lifetime." she looked up sadly, "It may be difficult to understand, but ... I still despise lying. I always aspire to be sincere. This is why I need you to trust me from now on. Promise me."

"Promise what -"

"You will trust me." she said, leaning over and taking his hands, "Promise that you will have faith in me. Promise that you will believe in me. Promise that you place your hope in me. And then promise me that you will be proud of me when I succeed."

"Well ... I'm not sure what brought this on, but ... yes, alright. I promise to - do all those things you just said." Courfeyrac said, shaking her hands.

"Thank you."

"That's alright. I - AAAAIIIIIIIEEEE!!"

"What? What's the matter?!"

"A rat ran over my foot." Courfeyrac whimpered.

The two gendarmes we met in Part Eleven, the eccentric Georges and his partner, the previously un-named Louis, were waiting around in the dark. The white stripes of their uniforms almost appeared to glow.

"We look like glow-worms. Haha." Georges said. He had his hands in his pockets while Louis clung to his bayonet. Georges's weapon had been confiscated long ago.

"This is boring. How long do we have to be here for, eh? I'm tired. I haven't had much sleep lately, haha. I've been having nightmares of angry radishes since I was a lad, but now their absolutely furious, haha." he mused.

"Do you ever shut up? If I get posted with you one more time, I'll -" Louis said. He was interupted by a disgusting sloshing sound down the tunnel. Or at least it seemed to be coming from there. Louis thought he may as well check.

"Was that you? Are you moving about?" he asked Georges, sincerely hoping that he was.

"Me? Nah, I'm standing as still as a rock." Georges grinned. Louis saw his teeth flash in the darkness somewhere.

"Then I think there's something over there. It could be rat, but ..." He looked nervously down the tunnel and listened intently.

"It could be a really big rat, haha. You know what I mean? A bad guy. Maybe even César himself, eh?"

"Shush, Georges. I think whatever it was has gone, or is keeping damn quiet about his presence."

"I can be quiet sometimes, haha."

To Louis, that statement really did deserve a 'haha'. But then, suddenly, another sloshing sound came, louder than before. A foot appeared by his.

"Gendarmes, here? How ... odd." Fantine said, putting her hands on her hips. Now they had been seen, Louis saw some sense in using one of the matches he had brought and lighting his lantern. So much for a discreet profile.

"Who are you, lady? It's awfully suspicious ... this is the sewer you know, not a public footpath." he said, holding up the light to her face.

"My friend and I have some business down here." she said, and glanced over Louis's shoulder at Georges.

"Gambling? If that's the case we'd have to turn you in. Illegal's illegal, and illegal illegal's heading for the jail."

"No, the opposite in fact."

"Awww, you're not a bounty hunter, are you? The only bounty hunter I know is Javert, and -"

"Coincidentally, we work with Psycho Phil on a regular basis." said Courfeyrac, and took Louis by great surprise.

"I told you I had a friend." Fantine said.

"I hate confrontations. Let's just get going." Louis said, and motioned for Fantine to go first.

"How courteous of you." she said.

"No, it's just that you seem to know where you're going in this place."

The rest of the short route was narrow and even wetter and smellier than before. Occasionally, Courfeyrac would see the glittering of a rat's eyes and the flick of a worm-like tail, and he would whimper quietly to himself.

The entrance was a bolted iron door with only a narrow gap at the bottom to let water pass through. Fantine rapped thirteen times on the door, and a harsh voice called from within.

"Password?"

"Chips and money all make one, your gambling experience has begun." Fantine sang tunefully, and the door opened. The doorkeeper was nowhere to be seen, but the casino itself came into their vision. Rows and rows of tables lined the cavernous room, the walls dripping with slime and Seine water.

"Where are we?" Louis breathed.

"The casino, haha." Georges said unhelpfully.

"He means whereabouts are we, dim-wit. Near the Pont Neuf somewhere, I think." Fantine said. She beckoned Courfeyrac forward, but kept the gendarmes back.

"What are you doing, eh?" Georges asked.

"Oh, so you were hoping to mingle and blend in dressed in police uniform? Pathetic. You'll be torn to pieces if you come in any further." Fantine told him, and gave the two of them a smirk. She and Courfeyrac neatly disappeared into the rabble of gamblers.

"I hate women. Why do they always have to be so ... right?" Louis sighed.

* * *

The next morning, Javert was looking anxiously out of his front window. Fantine and Courfeyrac were nowhere to be found, and Eponine was whining for her breakfast. As a matter of principal, Javert never let anyone eat until everyone was present at the table. So Eponine sat staring forlornly at the bread and selection of cheese, her chin resting on the table-cloth.

"They have taken a job. They have left us behind. I knew they were not trustworthy ... and now they are gone. To that gambler, no doubt. They have left us, us, the founding members of this group." Javert was rambling, the net curtains draped over his hand so that he could see unobtrusively into the street.

"I'm hungry. I want to eat. Do you see me worrying about two gallavanting desperados when I have my stomach complaining at me?" Eponine growled, fiddling idley with her spoon. It fell with a resounding clatter as the front door burst open.

"Let me near to the fire, I'm cold and wet and dirty!" Courfeyrac cried, and launched into the warm parlour.

"Hold on, where have you been?" Javert said, following him.

"We've got you six hundred francs. Here." Fantine said from the front entryway, holding out a bulging bag of money. Javert hurried over and snatched the bag.

"As long as it was gained legitimately, I will not ask ... too many questions." he said.

"We bagged a casino boss. That Crappio guy. Not too much trouble, surprisngly, although two gendarmes got in the way. But we sorted them out." Courfeyrac called from the next room.

"What did you do to them?" Eponine asked, coming into the hallway.

"Ummm, there was a slide leading to the river in the sewers right near the casino. We ... pushed them down it. They could be halfway to Madagascar by now." Fantine confessed, half amused yet half ashamed.

* * *

It was not a meeting night, yet Combeferre had decided to go to the empty house anyway. Once inside, he had discarded his balck cloak and lit a few candles. It had been preying on his intelligent mind for a long time ... too long.

"Feuilly ... Joly. Where are you?" he said to himself.


	14. Starry Starry Night

The Bounty Hunters Of Paris

Part Fourteen - Starry Starry Night

Time passed slowly like an old, useless clock for the bounty hunters. The year 1833 was creeping up, and by December, the events of June were so long distance that Javert, Eponine and Courfeyrac felt no longer disturbed by their resurrection. Fantine bitterly considered the years she had spent under the ground as the others had innocently lived above her.

One day, when the people had the Christmas aura floating around them, Javert went out to fetch a few items. The Seine was surprisingly active - it was extremely cold and he did not notice any ice. He generally avoided dodgy areas of the city in the winter months, for they held sights which he did not want to see. Bodies in green cloth bags lay at the sides of the roads and pathways - the poor who had frozen to death. Of course, summer was not much better - they complained about the heat then. Javert, although an expert grumbler himself, resented the moaning and groaning peasants. His route, therefore, led him through the wealthy avenues. The poor were going to inevitably be at the market area, so he instead went to a respectable shop about ten minutes away from his house. He purchased a newspaper and a large bagette, and left the shopkeeper a tip. He was feeling uncharacteristically jolly that day, and even felt the urge to whistle on his journey back. However, he had hardly begun to curl his lips before a blow knocked him to the side of the bridge. He looked around and saw a young woman, roughly of Eponine's age and stature, smiling at him.

"Ah-ha! I've been searching for someone like you." she said, and with a grunt of effort pushed him into the river. As he fell, Javert mentally cursed his luck as far as falling into the Seine was concerned.

* * *

The hallway was quiet, despite having three of the house's occupants in it. Courfeyrac came down the flight of stairs, having spent a penny (that's as far as I'd like to go in explaining that). He saw Fantine, Eponine and Un huddled suspiciously around the kitchen doorframe, taking an unblinking look at whatever was in there. Fantine twisted her head around, and put an elegant finger to her lips. With the other hand, she beckoned him forward. Courfeyrac peeked between Fantine and Eponine's heads, which was a little difficult. You had to bear in mind that Eponine had a plate of biscuits balanced on her head. What he saw inside the kitchen was even more surreal.

"It's like a view into an alternate universe." was how Fantine described it in a whisper. Javert, clad in only a vest and whatever else men in the nineteeth century wore as undergarments, had his back to them whilst fumbling around in a high cupboard (the kind that only he was tall enough to reach - for good reason). Just as bizzare was the company he was keeping in the room. Sitting at the small table was a young woman, about Eponine's age, wrapped up tightly in a large towel.

"I wish I had something to record this with." Courfeyrac said, disappointed that video-cameras would not be hitting the shops for many, many years to come.

"But what do you suppose is going on? I'll bet she's his girlfriend." Fantine said with an evil grin.

"She's a leeeeeeeetle bit too young for him." Courfeyrac said. This started up a spontaneous song in Eponine.

"An old fart, young at heart!" she chanted, crawling along the floor in an Un-like way. The dog sat watching her, his head cocked to one side, his stumpy tail decreasing in its wagging by the second.

"Maybe he's got a thing." Fantine suggested mischieviously, nodding at both Eponine and the girl.

"Then she's too old, surely?" Courfeyrac said, winking. Eponine wildly began to shake her head.

"No not me, can't you see??" she sang, her hair flying about. Amazingly, the plate and all the biscuits was still on top of her head. Un was observing these with great interest. In the kitchen, blissfully unaware of the spies at the door, or 'enemies at the gates' as Javert would later think, the girl replaced a pair of hoops onto her ears.

"Thanks for cleaning me up." she said, making the situation seem even worse to the watchers, who could hardly contain their laughs behind their scarlet, puffed up cheeks.

"A-zhut." Courfeyrac let out quietly.

"Uh, no-o problem." Javert said, stuttering as he had never stuttered before. In the police force, it just wasn't done. She was scaring him more than all the psychotic murderers he had ever come across in all his life put together in a dark alley. No, this was much, much worse.

"Oh, yes, I forgot to mention. My name is Evangeline." she introduced herself, intentionally letting the towel become a little looser.

"Ni-nice to-o m-m-meet you."

"Um-guh." Fantine said from underneath her hands. She was now shaking so much that the gold ring on her finger was actually rattling. Even Un looked amused, his long, drooping tongue hanging from his mouth and dripping saliva onto Javert's prize brown carpet.

"So-o, w-w-why did you, errr, p-push me into the r-river?" Javert said, gingerly sitting down opposite Evangeline, still feeling extremely uncomfortable in his undergarments. At that moment, Un chose to give a low bark, making Javert turn his head. Three of the spies, Un included, all sauntered off with unconvincing innocent expressions on their faces. Courfeyrac even whistled as he went down to the basement. Only Eponine remained in the hallway, and then she came zooming into the kitchen.

"Want one?" she asked Evangeline, lowering her head and offering the biscuits. As she hesitantly took one, Eponine looked into her annoyingly pretty face.

"Are you Javert's girlfriend?" she said abruptly, causing an explosion on Javert's side of the table.

"No, but thank you for the biscuit." Evangeline said, blushing slightly. With a last cheeky grin at Javert, Eponine zoomed away again.

"There was not a real reason why I picked you, I just need someone's help. That's not to say that you're not ... umm, a special person, of course. It was mostly down to your lineage, I guess." Evangeline said, taking a tiny, precise bite out of her snack. This rang out alarm bells in Javert's head. How did she know? He had jumped in glee when the first signs of aging had appeared in his hair, and had been eternally grateful for his grey eyes. In fact, this had imprinted grey as a lucky colour in his mind.

"I am a p-pure Frenchman. Like m-many men around here." he protested, rubbing the back of his head nervously. The girl tittered at his behaviour.

"Tee-hee, you don't think I know about you? As soon as I saw you I knew about your blood-line. Mind you, you're not pure gypsy, about half I'd say." she said, cocking her head as she noted his features.

"I'm not a gypsy -"

"Don't deny it. You know about the Star Stone, right? I need to find it. Can you help me?"

Javert bit his lip in shame. His secret would be out very shortly ... he was sure that Eponine or Courfeyrac or even Fantine would be listening through the wall ... maybe all three. Besides, he'd never heard of the Star Stone, but he had a feeling it would lead him into a RPG-esque hunt should he lend her his assistance.

"I have never heard of this stone, but I shall help you anyway." he said, having forgotten to stutter. If he had to be honest, he had been putting it on a little bit, to show his sense of decency and decorum. He had the protocol of the day imprinted into his mind - show an ankle and your foot will be given a funeral service all of its own, and you would be attending it. Well, perhaps he took this to extremes. Had he still been a policeman, you would dread to think about what would happen to the girl sitting opposite him - shoulders, arms and lower legs bare, and the rest only obscured by a towel. Yeowch.

"You will? Oh, thank you! It is a stone which the gypsies revere, one of four actually. There's the Sun, Moon, Star and Earth stones, and they are distributed between four gypsy travelling groups. My group possess the Star Stone - well, possessed - and it's gone missing. We think someone stole it." Evangeline explained matter-of-factly. Javert was quite impressed by her grasp of civilised speech. He had a narrow view of gypsies, despite his own parentage.

"What do you propose we do? Perhaps Eponine will know - she's the girl who came in here. She always seems to have smart-alec ways of finding -"

"No, please don't get her involved. I don't mind the others, but not her, I beg you." Evangeline said, clasping her hands together.

"Why? What's wrong with her?" Javert asked, but found some fault in the question. A lot, he answered in his head. Evangeline shook her head.

"Just ... I don't know really. In fact, I'd rather not have anyone help us." she said.

"Not even Un, the dog?" Javert said innocently, causing Evangeline to giggle.

"No, not even the dog. Promise me?"

Javert knew that he was going to find it strange without the others, even if this wasn't a bounty hunt.

"Yes."

"Just the two of us? I can't wait to get started! Err, I mean, I hope we can find the stone. It means so much to me and my family." Evangeline said, and rose to locate her drying clothes. The towel slipped a little more, and Javert gave a yelp.

* * *

While Evangeline was occupied in the upstairs bathroom, which was adjacent to Javert's bedroom (which gave him great unease for some reason), Eponine took the time to talk to him.

"So, how was your day?" she said. He did a double-take and stared at her.

"What?"

"HOW WAS YOUR DAY? Gosh, you must be going deaf or something. My grandfather was deaf ... and then he was dead. My father poisoned him." Eponine recalled, reclining in her wooden chair.

"I am not going deaf, I just was considering the absurdity of your question. Well, first thing in the morning I went out for a bagette and l'Moniteur. Unusually however, an old beggar man stopped me on my way home. He said that he recognised me from that time when he was in a strawberry field in early May, 1713. I had a wicker basket and a matching hat, apparantly."

"Did you really meet him then?"

"Unless we are both over a hundred years old, probably not." Javert said.

"So what about your girlfriend? How did you two meet? Was it romantic?"

"She is not my girlfriend! How indecent. If I were an Inspector again I would have you locked up for not having a single moral in you. Anyway, she knocked me over into the river this morning after the beggar incident."

"What happened to your purchases?"

"The bagette got bent and the newspaper is completely illegible."

"I'm not that good at reading. Maybe I can decipher it if it's that bad." Eponine offered, grinning. She could read, but the language used in l'Moniteur was alien to people from the country and the streets such as herself. She even had some problems with the bounty hunter page, which was basically a list of names and amounts of money.

"Anyway, we're going to be out tonight. Hold the fort for me - no, on second thoughts, I'll ask Courfeyrac. Well, even that could be a mistake ..." Javert groaned, and rubbed his forehead. Why did he live with such incompetent fools?

* * *

Courfeyrac smiled at Evangeline as she wrapped a shawl over her slight shoulders.

"Where are you off to then, little missy?" he asked her, leaning against the wall. She adjusted her skirt and gave him a suspicious look.

"Nowhere interesting, cowboy. This is nothing that should concern you or the others."

"With the exception of Phil? Come on missy, I'm not that dense. Something's going on, and being naturally curious I am asking you now; what's going on?" he said, folding his arms. Javert coughed from behind him.

"I do not know about being curious, but I know that you are naturally lazy. Stop pestering this young lady."

"Ooooh." Courfeyrac put his hands up and looked at Evangeline. "Sorry for being such an obligation. Good day, ma'am."

"Good heavens, be quiet." Javert said, and stepped outside. The air was fresh, far too spring-like for the winter, even though it was very cold. Evangeline stepped beside him, and squinted at the intense chill. Courfeyrac hung at the open doorway, and was shortly joined by Fantine, who wanted to know exactly what all the fuss was about. Eponine zoomed past them, past Javert and Evangeline and settled in the front garden in a patch of frost. She tried to make a snow angel, but failed spectacularly. Javert could not believe she and Evangeline were the same age. The gypsy girl seemed so mature in comparison. He concluded that Eponine must have been showing off her enormous talent for acting stupid.

"What exactly is all the fuss about?" Fantine said on cue. Javert felt a flake of snow land on his nose.

"Ah-ha!" he said, pointing into the garden. Eponine sat up and raised an eyebrow at him.

"Huh? Did you just make a funny noise?" she asked loudly.

"The snow is falling, the miracle of ice is occuring, the ground will be white as a pearl, hurrah for the Lord who made all this possible." Javert said, ignoring her.

"Hark, do you hear the herald angels sing?" Fantine said sarcastically.

"Indeed, all the children sing." Javert continued, "And everybody's hearts will be filled with compassion at the sound of it."

"Riiiiiiiggghhhhht." Courfeyrac said, and punched himself in the head. Yup, this was really happening all right.

"The Christmas night is nearly upon us. And I am ... doing charity work." Javert said, and looked at Evangeline.

"Good ... for you." Fantine said, and had a vision of him collecting money by playing the harmonica on street corners. "What for? Gamin Aid?"

"For Evangeline and her family, actually."

"Oh. Well, that's nice." Fantine smiled emotionlessly. She and Courfeyrac shared the smae frame of mind at that moment; Javert had gone stark-raving bonkers and they couldn't care less about Evangeline and her family's cause. Eponine, on the other hand, was heart-broken. She crawled over the grass and grabbed Javert's leg.

"But I thought I was the special sixteen year old girl in your life!" she cried. Javert pondered this.

"Nah." he said. Eponine growled in contempt.

"Mark my words. If you go with her, you'll regret it." she warned/threatened (she wasn't sure herself of which) and crawled back into the warm house. Courfeyrac slowly closed the door.

"Well, that should keep them disturbed for at least half-an-hour. Until they become occupied in some other inane matter." Javert said, and began down the garden path.

"I wondered what that weird speech was for." Evangeline muttered.

* * *

They entered possibly the dingiest bar in Paris (that took a lot of cobwebs and shady-looking characters to pull off) in a flurry of soft snowflakes. Javert brushed off his coat and surveyed the scene. Perhaps those two gentlemen could help them ... the ones who didn't have knives or other evil implements showcased about their person.

"I don't think even the roughest rogues would dare drink in this place." Evangeline whispered, pulling at her headscarf in apprehension.

"Well, somebody's got to, so who are these ... people?" Javert said. He tapped the shoulder of the nearest of the couple and coughed.

"Excuse me, sir, but ... oh my Lord, it's you two!"

Georges the gendarme grinned back at him.

"Haha." he said. Louis frowned and put his glass down.

"Errr, Inspector, you shouldn't really be in here. This is a policemens' bar. Well, you shouldn't be because ... well, you're not an Inspector anymore." he said uncertainly.

"And with a girl. Haha." Louis added, looking at Evangeline with keen interest. "Do you like young girls, eh? You have another one living in your house after all, haven't you?"

'Oh dear God'. Javert thought. Then something conveniently popped into his mind.

"Wait a moment; didn't Fantine and Courfeyrac, sort of, push you into the river?" he said, glancing at Evangeline, who promptly blushed.

"We have a knack of making come-backs. It only took us half an episode this time!" Georges explained proudly.

"And how come I have never heard of this bar?" Javert asked.

"You were never ... all that popular with the lads. They thought you were a sissy when it came to hardened drinking. Besides, you were so big they thought you'd drink them under the table if you ever did decide to indulge in alcoholic beverages." Louis told him.

"Big?!"

"Tall. Haha."

"I see." Javert said, "Now, could you tell me anything about a 'Star Stone'?"

Louis and Georges looked at each other quickly.

"Errrm ..." Louis said, and nodded to Georges. Georges pulled out a small gun and shot Javert in the arm.

"OOOOOOOOUUUUUUUCCCCCHHHHHHHHEEEEERRRRIIIINNNOOOOO!!"

Georges blew at the smoking barrel.

"Sorry about that, Javvie, haha. We just don't want you to get in our way anymore. No hard feelings, eh?"

Evangeline rushed to Javert's side, and screamed at the sight of the welling pool of blood at his feet. She tried to help him up anyway, and racked her brains for the nearest doctor's surgery.

* * *

"Looks bad, looks very bad to me." the doctor said, fiddling with a small stick sharpened at one end.

"What is that?" Javert asked nervously, hoping that the piece of wood would be less scary than the metal implements in the room.

"Have you never had innoculation, sir? Smallpox? No? Well, this is what we do. We take some of the substance and place it here, then make a tiny scratch on your skin with this end -"

"ACCKKK!! Don't come any closer with that - that - that thing!" Javert screamed, clutching onto Evangeline with his good arm.

"Calm down, sir. You're here for a slightly more serious reason than that. Shot in the arm, eh? I was in the army once, sir, and I saw many men shot in the arm. You were lucky that the ball didn't cause explosion on impact - dreadful business, that is. However, the prospects for this arm are not clear - I shall have to ask you to pull up your sleeve."

Javert glanced uneasily at Evangeline, who was looking rather morbid.

"Should the lady - err - witness this?" he asked the doctor.

"I'll take a look first then, shall I?" he said, pulling back his sleeve for him. Javert was immediately disgusted by what he saw. Clotted blood, a huge gaping hole and a large black ball. He had the sudden urge to go and wash the blood off.

"Seen worse, seen worse. There's definately been worse on the battlefield - perhaps that's why I can stand being a doctor. Madamoiselle, I would advise you to keep your eyes averted, if you don't mind. Hmm. Amputation, sir, is the cure for this." the doctor said, prodding the deadened arm.

"What?! Ampu - no! You can't! I need my arm!" At times like these, it is difficult to know what to say. Protesting seems to be the best method though.

"For what, sir?"

"Errr, I just need it. Like anyone else does. Why did God give humans two arms? We do not know, but it makes life a whole lot easier!" Javert argued, turning to his religion for suitable material for debate.

"It would be easier to have it off, rather than to have you lumbered with a useless limb for the rest of your days."

"Ah - true."

"No!" Evangeline cried, wrapping her arms around Javert, "You can't! There's got to be another way!"

"You are right. Just stitch it up, doctor, and I will be on my way." Javert said, plucking Evangeline's limbs off his person.

* * *

"Can I sign your cast?" Eponine asked Javert that evening. He sighed.

"But I do not have a cast, Eponine."

"Can I sign your arm, then?" she persisted, and whipped out a pen and some ink. She had changed to colour of the ink to a luminous shade of purple.

"Not with that atrocious colour you cannot." Javert said. Courfeyrac came into the parlour, a smile lining the edges of his mouth.

"I just saw Evangeline out. She's a very nice young lady. Not like Miss Leave Dirty Clothes Everywhere here." he said, messing up Eponine's hair.

"That takes me five minutes to put up like that." she murmured, and tugged out the string with which she tied her hair.

"I would never have guessed that. But I'll give you some credit; it looks very nice." Courfeyrac said, and messed it up again.

"Arrggh! Stop it! Javert, make him stop!"

"You two are just like a childish pair of siblings. Behave and pipe down. I am not at all in the mood to be putting up with this nonsense." Javert growled. He gingerly stroked his injury from the day. He was beginning to get some feeling back in his fingers, which was a pleasing sign of recovery.

"Anyway, she said that she'd find someone else to help her find the stone. Someone who didn't used to be a cop." Courfeyrac said, collapsing onto the couch.

"Well, I expected as much." Javert said, and suddenly felt a familiar tugging sensation on his trouser leg.

"If I get some black ink, can I sign your arm then?"


	15. Not All The Lights Are On Upstairs

The Bounty Hunters Of Paris

Part Fifteen - Not All The Lights Are On Upstairs

Note : Firstly, I am so, so, so sorry about the wait for this. Due to a recent review (thank you!) I decided to upload after about two years break. I'm not sure what the next chapter is going to be about, therefore I'm not certain how long it's going to be ... we'll see. With college work/cosplay/Little Britain obsession going on, I'm finding it hard to do this fanfic justice all the time.

Well, I feel like giving Eponine some kick-ass stunts and fighting, so maybe she'll do some ninja stuff! That'd be really cute! No, I really should find an uber-cool Cowboy Bebop episode and base it on that, just like in Chapter 14. Sorry, thinking aloud. '

Oh, one more thing. I'm clipping the series down to 23 episodes and an epilogue. Don't ask why.

Bang bang, said the gun politely.

"No no, Meess Eponine, like zeess, weeth feeling!" Sensei exclaimed, taking the weapon and applied emotional pressure to the trigger. He squinted in his extreme efforts, and Eponine screwed up her face to copy him.

"Eet iz not enough to simplee pull ze treeger, eet reequires eemotion and to bee one weeth ze gun!" he told her, and fired again with tears in his eyes.

"Yes. Thanks." she said, and tried to cry. Meanwhile, on the other side of the room, Fantine was shooting freely whilst cartwheeling around the floor. Each shot hit the bulls-eye. Javert, observing from a distnce, glowered as he continued to completely miss the target. Courfeyrac was not much better, but he did manage to skim the edge of the hastily-erected board with a messily-painted target on it.

"Don't get too down, Phil." Courfeyrac said, and breathed out, "She _is_ known as 'Trigger Tholomyès' after all. You're known for being a psychopath, and that's considered even more scary than a gun-toting woman."

"Is it really?" Javert sighed.

"No, but the two are closely related."

"I see."

Javert was particularly down because he was facing being 'released' from the 'gun-nastics' class due to his poor aim and poor attitude. Sensei required utter devotion and enthusiasm in his group, and Javert was the most sour member he had ever encountered.

"I think I may join a cooking class instead." Javert told his fellow bounty hunters on the walk home.

"Hey, you're not that bad, Javert - your arm hasn't completely healed yet, after all, and that affects your balance which is essential in shooting." Fantine said. Javert shook his head, and touched the bandaged wound under his greatcoat.

"No, I am getting too old for this apprehension thing as it is. Perhaps I could handle headquarters while you three tackle the scum of the crime underworld." he said.

"Personally, I have no problem with the cookery class idea." Courfeyrac grinned.

"That's because you eat like a starved, rabid pig." Fantine said in disgust.

"There is one thing I would like you to do for me, though." Javert said, when they reached his front gate.

"Hmm?" Fantine hmmed. Javert clenched his good hand into a fist.

"Find those two _gendarmes_ and pack them off to Madagascar again."

Delanoe beamed at his friend, showing off every one of his teeth. Emile braced himself for what was to follow.

"I saw the papers this mornin'!" Delanoe exclaimed, obliviously dropping his fishing into the swirling river, "And we're wanted bounties! Ain't it excitin'!"

Emile silently whimpered to himself. As if matters weren't complicated enough already they would have some dumb bounty hunters tailing their every move. Now was the time to come out and proclaim to the world who they really were. Their true lives, now changed by some false names and dumbed-down demeanours, would have to be strictly returned to them by the hand of fate. Besides, the Seine-fishing industry just wasn't paying up. Not that being a renegade would bring in a steady cash-flow, but at least he could write to his parents again; Dear Mama and Papa, I have decided to become a 'student' again, could you please send me some money? Being such dear souls, they'd dutifully send triple the asked amount. He knew that Delanoe's family were of much the same constitution and background, wealthy and kind (or stupid). Emile had made some observations of the rebel students during his time as 'Emile'; their high-class situations had created Bohemian ideals in them as boys, caused mainly by a rigid education system, devoted parents and eccentric grandmothers with more money than wrinkles. Doted-upon, whipped by stern men with a stick in one hand and an apple in the other and treated to a dose of granny kisses every month or so, they had grown up confused, rebellious toffs.

"You can stop with the charisma now." Emile said to his companion.

"But I've always been like this!"

"You weren't always so damn chirpy and 'stupidified'. You were a University boy, after all."

"Oh yeah ... I nearly forgot. I'm forgettin' so much recently. Wow ... all the three-syllabillc words are floodin' back." Delanoe sighed, and looked down at his rod, now floating away in the swirl of the dark river. Emile stretched his legs out straight, and tried to touch his shoes with his fingertips.

"I heard that the others formed a new resistance group - very secretive. We put out too much propaganda last time. The authorities knew within minutes of our decision to rise up - ouch - and so we were eliminated easily when the day arrived." Emile mused, rubbing the pulled-muscle in his leg.

"Why, could we join? Do you think they'll laugh at us? Or send us away? Or _torture_ us? Eh, Feuilly?"

"Oh Joly Joly Joly, they were our ever-faithful comrades once ... they'll kill us."

Day broke over Paris and hastily tried to pick up the pieces, but stopped and hung, suspended, over Javert's abode. Courfeyrac, wishing for more darkness, crawled off his sofa and slid up the basement stairs to the kitchen. He sat down at the table, fork in hand and waited patiently for his breakfast. Because of his arm, Javert did not arise until later on. Oddly, it was Eponine who joined Courfeyrac first, her wavy hair brushed and smooth. Un followed her in, and whimpered at the sight of his empty bowl.

"You can't eat while we're broke, Un." Eponine told the dog, "We humans can't either."

Half an hour later, Javert had given them some bread and stale cheese to nibble on. Instead, they gobbled it down and held out their plates.

"There's no more." he said, and turned away. They converged in the parlour, feeling quite miserable and very hungry. Un stayed in the kitchen, despondently staring into his bowl. Javert lit up the fireplace, but this didn't help the general mood of doom.

"Have you noticed," Eponine randomly said to Javert, "That we've met two strange duos of the 'dumb and dumber' denomination?"

"Yes, that is true for the fishermen." Javert agreed, and rubbed the sleep from his eyes, "But at least Louis the _gendarme_ has some sense. Georges, on the other hand, is the most irritating, bumbling idiot this side of the English channel." He slowly went over and extinguished the fire.

"I think we should all go for a stroll." he announced. Courfeyrac, who was dozing on the couch, snapped to attention. He opened both his eyes wide.

"No, not me. I'm too tired. You lot go on, though. It's a ... fresh looking day." he said, and tried desparately to return to his nap.

"You are coming along as well. No exceptions. I do not trust you when you are on your own." Javert told him, pulling the young man up to his feet.

"Wait, I don't think I should go either." Eponine said from the floor.

"Why not?"

"I, well, I don't know how to stroll." she mumbled. Javert did not even see the point in gracing that remark with a retort.

"That was laaa-ame." Courfeyrac said to her behind his hand, leaning over from beside the couch. Fantine, Un cradled in her arms, waltzed in. She was wearing a new lacey dress with a matching jacket, parasol shoved under her arm-pit, and high shoes. All were deep purple in colour, aside from the black lining and white jacket collar.

"I do so _love _these little assemblies. Especially when I'm in the next room listening in and not contributing." she said, setting Un down.

"I am glad to see you are suitably attired for such a chilly morning." Javert said, looking at her outfit. She brushed her jacket off for traces of dog hair.

"Oh no, I couldn't possibly go out now. The wind would simply ruin my hair and parasol and the mud would destroy the polish on my shoes." she exclaimed, not snobbishly but with a degree of nineteenth century haughtiness.

"There's a heart in there somewhere." Courfeyrac said, pointing at her chest. Fantine grabbed at the front of her jacket.

"How dare you draw attention to ... _there_!" she shrieked. Within the commotion which followed, Javert sat down heavily into his armchair.

"No matter what it is we have to do, they have to go and spoil everything." he sighed, and turned to his only sane companion; the newspaper. And even that was questionable. He opened the bounty pages, and the others heard a sharp intake of air.

"Well I never ..." he breathed, "You will not guess who is in here."

"No, we won't. Just tell us." Courfeyrac said.

"None other than those two idiotic fishermen. My Lord, when will it end?"

Giggling, Eponine crawled over and peered at the paper. She drew an invisible line with her finger across the artist impressions of the two young men, and blinked back surprise.

"Ohh, now I get it." she said quietly, to herself. She silently began to count something out with her fingers.

"What, what?" Javert asked.

"Seeing those pictures of them has stirred something in my memory banks." she said, "I recognise them from a while back. I just couldn't believe it at first ... I thought I must be wrong. But that's just it. I spoke with, ahhh, Monsieur Marius the other day and he told me that he'd been in contact with his friends, the rebels from the barricades - don't give me that look, Javert - and, errr, it turns out that three were missing. One is Cour-Cour, and I kept my mouth shut about that, but the other two ... are our strange fishermen friends."

"Why did you not SAY??!!" Javert exclaimed, rustling the newspaper violently.

"You would have ignored me. I never get to give contributions. It's always _your_ suggestions that are used. Anyway, this makes the case so much more interesting."

"So, do you suppose they'll be by the river tonight? I mean, if they're as stupid as you make them out to be then they'd be oblivious to the bounty, right?" Fantine said. Courfeyrac, who had had his head bowed since Eponine's revelation, stood up.

"Oh dear ... what is going on ... this is really, very bad." he mumbled.

"Oooh, sorry Cour-Cour." Eponine said, reaching over to pat his ankle.

"If I had only seen them ... if I'd have seen them for myself, this could have been so easily avoided. God, I'm confused. Do I turn in two good friends, or wait for someone else to?" Courfeyrac said to himself, dragging his feet into the hallway.

"This is more intriguing than usual." Javert said in an observational manner, once he had heard Courfeyrac go down the basement stairs. "If everything was fine between him and the other students (the scally-wags), he would have gone back with them long ago. But he did not. There must be some kind of secret, a problem, a rift somewhere."

While the women considered this, Un waddled over to the fire and sat down. He was centimetres away from singing his tail. Eponine placed her thumb on her lip thoughtfully. She couldn't help but be concerned about Courfeyrac. Perhaps she could be of more use than they expected. What if she caught the two fishermen, errr, students, errr, whatever, and shared out the reward anyway? Courfeyrac would be guilt free and she would have proved her capabilities. She had never felt that the others had faith in her skills, possibly because of her youth or her ambiguous background. But she had to keep her plan quiet. Creep out in the night ... and sneak back in before daybreak. Simple.

"I - I think we should leave it for now. They're probably in hiding anyway, so we could catch them when they're feeling brave enough to enter the public sector again." Eponine said, acting as well as she could. Her voice failed her, but the other two were too flustered to notice.

"I shall have to have a lie down after that. I have got cramp in my arm, anyway." Javert announced. Suddenly, Un let out a pained howl and ran about, the tip of his tail glowing red.

At twelve o'clock, when all was well and Javert, Fantine and Courfeyrac were safely out like lights, Eponine put on her long coat and climbed out of the attic window. It had been boarded up when she had first acquired the room, but she had removed the planks of wood to create a second exit (she claimed it was only for use as a fire escape). The rooftops of the surrounding properties were still and silent in the deep blue haze, the shadows of heavy clouds seeming to stretch for miles. As the first few snowflakes glittered in the air, Eponine slid down the roof to the dirty gutter. It reminded her of the unsanitary life she used to trudge through, the ground always muddy at her shoeless feet. She wiggled her toes in the thick socks and boots she had now, and was contented.

She peered down to see a group of suspicious men in the street outside the house, and opted to advance further along the rooftops. She stopped at the end of the road and leapt down onto the porch of the end house. A man was gazing out a window nearby. Eponine gave the bemused man a wave and jumped to the front garden. After untangling herself from an unruly yet possibly priceless rose bush, she jogged across to the other side of the street where there were considerably more shadows to lurk in. Her plan of action was to locate some of her old aquaintances and then Montparnasse, who could be anywhere. She had not heard from him for several months. Well, she could just go to the river and hunt for fishing rods.

It turned out that the fishermen had fled their usual nightly pastime and were nowhere to be seen. The only souls on the riverbank were a few shady characters selling each other knives, an old man and rats. She decided to inquire with the old man first. Then the rats second. Being 'street-wise' did not mean that she could talk to these kind of people - it meant that she knew _how_ to avoid them, and _why_ to avoid them.

"Excuse me monsieur, but I'm looking for Emile and Delanoe. They come here frequently. Do you know where they might be?" she asked the elderly gentleman politely. He turned to her with half-closed eyes.

"Hmm ... I think I know who you're referring to, mademoiselle, but I wouldn't know any more than that. I see them feeding their faces at Benoit's Bistro in Rue St. Antoine occasionally. About lunch-time." he said. Eponine thanked him and made a mental note. They must be living near the river, then. They would have quick access to here and their local restaurant. Ah-ha. But where, exactly ...?

She decided that she needed to ask for the assistance of the local gossip-junkie, 'Slinky Ears' to get any useful information. Slinky knew the difference between true stories or great big whopping lies when he heard them. Eponine ambled down to the Pont-Neuf and sniffed the air. The familiar odour of rotten cabbages and dregs of the sewer hung over the bridge like a disgusting curtain. She hopped down to the riverbank and peered into the darkness beneath the bridge. She tapped the stone three times and then once more after a beat.

"Are you there, Slinky? It's me, Swifty." she said, pressing herself against the bridge to avoid the yes of passers-by. She heard a muffled squeak.

"Yes, 'tis, haha." said a voice from within.

"Whoa Slinky, have you had tonsillitis or something?" Eponine said.

"Yes, haha. Tragic. Lost my usual, errr, vocal distinction, haha."

Eponine stuck her arm into the dark, unintelligable depths and pulled out a man in a cloak.

"Haha." he laughed, subdued.

"Hey, I know you. You're one of those coppers, the irritating one!" Eponine said, as the silly laugh became recognisable, "I hoped never to run into you again. And now look. I've pulled you out from under a bridge. How novel. How coincidential. This must be the product of divine intervention against me."

She had learned the expression 'divine intervention' from the devoutly Christian Javert, although he used it as a positive phrase. Whenever anothing good happened, like the capture of a bounty or the discovery of socks without holes in the toes, he would praise God. Now, Eponine always found that her socks wore out on the soles of her feet, and often felt that this was unusual; everyone else seemed to get holes in the toes. Anyway, whenever anything bad happened, like or an encounter with an inate _gendarme_, she blamed God. Her blasphemous utterences drove Javert to distraction. And now, Georges little trademark laugh™ was getting to _her_.

"Nope, I just seem to bounce back everytime. Louis has got me dressing up now. It's rather fun." Georges told her.

"Look, if you don't mind, I have some business to attend to. But then again, you may be able to help. Do you know ... the fishermen?" Eponine said, uncertain of what his answer would be, but it would probably include a 'haha'.

"I don't know any fishermen, haha."

"Good night, then."

Georges crept back under the bridge, and sneezed loudly causing an echo. You could tell espionage would never be one of his greatest skills. Eponine then heard a 'plop' from across the river. A fishing line! With no hesitation, she sprinted round and over the Pont-Neuf, her breathing catching in her constricted throat. She felt impulsed to launch herself onto the fishermen, if indeed it was them, and take them straight to the nearby police post. How proud they'd be of her ...

It was too dark to tell who the owners of the fishing-rod were, so she went for broke and jumped upon the nearest one. He leapt up in shock, trying to remove the creature now tearing at his hair and ears. Eponine clung to his back like a stubborn limpet.

"I have you now, fishermen!" she cried, and tried to bind his flailing hands with some dirty string she had in her pocket. The other man joined the fray, pulling the rabid girl off his companion.

"What _are_ you doing?" asked an unfamiliar voice. Eponine stopped, inches away from biting her victim's ear. She let go and gracefully tumbled to the soft earth. Now that she looked, these were definately not her targets. To her they were too old, about Javert's age, and she had never seen them before in her life.

"Forgive me." she said as they stared at her, and took off at a run. Why were people not being the right people, the ones she was looking for, today? And had night fishing really caught on with other people? So now she was left with two options, both of which could be achieved if she was prepared to first do a lot of searching, and then a lot of waiting. She wanted to find Montparnasse, but then he always had been a slippery fish. That's why he was never arrested. If that plan failed, if she couldn't find him or he didn't know anything, she could always wait outside Benoit's Bistro and catch them in time for lunch. But that would mean the others would notice her absence.

As she was silently considering her options, the wind picked up and through the falling snow she could make out two figures, coming towards her. She flattened herself against the wall. She could trip one up, tug at his sleeve, whatever. If it wasn't them, she could create another embarrassing situation and escape again. It was worth a try. Third time lucky, and all that. She stuck her foot out at a precise angle, enough to make them fall on their face. She almost grinned at the thought.

The figure fell for it. Literally. There was a massive 'thud' and a grunt.

"Emile, are you all right?" Delanoe said. Ah-ha, Eponine thought. I've got you now, Feuilly and Joly.

"Oh dear, he looks quite hurt." she said innocently, "I'm ever so sorry. There's a first-aid place just down the road, do you want to go there ...?" Or the first-aid equivalent of the nineteenth century. Eponine smirked in any case, because the drifting snow would obscure any signs of the police. She led the way to the post.

"Thank you, mademoiselle." Emile/Feuilly said, limping along. Some blood had soaked through his trousers, bright against the snow, and Eponine began to feel a little guilty. She waved at the _gendarme_ at the post, and whilst the fishermen went inside she spoke with him outside.

"These are the notorious fishermen. I want my money." she said bluntly, holding her palm out.

"Ah." the gendarme said, "And how much is it? The bounty?"

"Three hundred francs. For both. If you don't believe that it's them, take a good look -"

"No no, it's just that I wasn't expecting this at this time of night." The _gendarme_ went into the post, rummaged in his desk drawer, and counted out the money.

"They think this is a first-aid post. Oblige them, until your friends can come along and help shift them." Eponine told him, and skipped away. The money felt warm inside her pocket; she had never held so much in her entire life. How pleased they'd all be ...

As for the fishermen, do not fear. They may even have their revenge ... someday.


	16. L'Un Vers L'Autre

The Bounty Hunters Of Paris

Part Sixteen - L'Un Vers L'Autre

Note : The title is actually the title of Eponine's solo song in the original French score of the Les Mis musical, which I own. The French titles, apart from 'Le Chien', are all from such songs, usually relating to the prominent character/s in that chapter.

And good news! I bought the Cowboy Bebop graphic novel that I was missing and so I'm back onto totally loving that series. Everyone also seems to think that I'm an Ed freak ... I just like the girl/boy/thing, ok? Geez.

I changed this fanfic from a G rating to a PG - only because of earlier VERY VERY VERY subtle sexual references (see the prison episode with Babet), Javert throwing insults such as 'whore' around and the whole Babet thing in this part. I could be paranoid, but when you come from a very liberal background it's natural to be cautious while on the WORLD WIDE WEB. Heheh.

* * *

That was a strange sight, although not wholly unexpected. The bounty section of the newspaper was a 'special', and did not immediately raise Eponine's spirits. It was one gang, and every bounty hunter in Paris would be desperate to reel them in. But as she examined the pictures, an unfortunate pattern emerged. There was 'The Pretty Boy', 'Open Mouth', 'The Silent Man', 'Le Cabuc' and 'Blue Fingers'. She recognised each one in turn.

"Oh, damnation." she said, and checked that Javert was not in the vicinity to hear it.

"What's damnation? Trigger's awful fashion sense? Has it made a headline? It should do." Courfeyrac said from beside her.

"No."

"Education fees? Nasty subject."

"I wouldn't know about that. It's my father's gang. They've got bounties on their heads." Eponine said, and then clenched her mouth shut. But she was interested as to why and how Montparnasse had eluded the authorities notice. Courfeyrac seemed eager to begin work.

"Let's go, time will be running out! You know them, right? Then it should be easy. You'll know their hideouts and secret places. Oh my god!" he cried as he glanced at the page, "I recognise him. That one, 'Le Cabuc'. I thought that was his real name. He was killed during the riot. Pretended to be one of us, but I think he was shot before most. Shame, he could load a bayonet in less than five ..."

"Yes, but he's not dead now. And he's really called Claquesous." Eponine said. In fact, you couldn't trust that anyone who had died were still cold in their grave or where they had been dumped in the bloody mess of the student riot. They kept on popping up in unexpected circumstances and looking less green than the last time you had seen them.

"Babet escaped from prison a while back. He can't keep out of serious trouble for too long. I don't know about the others, but it looks like they've been together in all this." Eponine reflected.

"Fine. Let's go and inform our comrades. They're both starving for cash, you can tell." Courfeyrac said.

* * *

The IAA was doing a damn good job of being secretive. Whilst describing his dreams of freedom and liberty led by young, innovative minds, Enjolras had completely neglected giving orders and no one had gone anywhere. Of course, the cloaks accounted for the 'perks of the job'. But that was about it.

"Sir." Combeferre said to his leader, who was sipping a painfully alcoholic drink with one eye screwed up, "We need to rally our Brothers. They are restless. Well, _bored_ I suppose is the correct term for their current state of mind."

Enjolras clenched his glass so tightly that it nearly shattered in his hand.

"Perhaps I can offer some ... errr ... advice. Get some of them to infiltrate official government buildings. Get some others to keep strict tabs on Members of State. Please, sir, just do something." Combeferre pleaded with the silent man.

"Lady's clothes." Enjolras mumbled.

"Pardon, sir?"

"Disguise is the best way to get results. Get some of our brothers to don garments aux madams and twinkle they way into politicians' bedchambers."

"Disguise? Twinkle?? Bedchambers???" Combeferre gawped at his Brother.

"Yes. Then they can hold the pompous rogues at knifepoint and order to see documents. You can change any legislation that they come across and it'll be civil rights and cream slices for all."

"Sir, where do cream slices come into it?"

"The people will be able to afford cream slices rather than mouldy bread. We can make the change." Enjolras slammed his fist into his palm. "Oww. Got a bit carried away there."

Combeferre was almost relieved to see Grantaire, Lesgle and Bahorel tumble into the room.

"Wassup?" Lesgle said.

"What is the meaning of this impromptu intrusion, Brothers?" Combeferre asked them haughtily.

"We found Grantaire spouting some abuse at a barmaid." Bahorel said, "We found it inappropriate and said that he'd have you two to answer to. He responded by peeing on the –."

"I don't think they wanna know that badly." Lesgle cut-in.

"Ahh, Brothers. I wish to enlighten you to our newest plan." Enjolras smiled, setting his empty glass down on a bale of hay. The furnishings of the IAA's base were generally random and poorly thought-out.

"Don't you mean our first plan?" Lesgle said. He tried to sound innocent to hide his perfectly honed sarcasm.

"Go to Madame Adrienne's on the Rue St Antoine. She specialises in lady's fashion. Ask her to make dresses for you. That is step one."

"Huh? But I'm a maayyyynnn." Grantaire whimpered. Bear in mind that he only ever heard every other word that people said.

"Yeah, we're men. We don't need frocks." Lesgle said.

"Precisely. You're men _now_. But when Madame Adrienne is finished with you'll be high-class ladies. Then you shall attend the Grande Ball in two weeks time. Between you, seduce the Mayor of Paris, the Domestic Secretary and the Prefect of Police, M. Henri-Joseph Gisquet."

"No way, dude." Lesgle said, "I've heard that Gisquet guy is a psycho."

"And he's a man. How are we supposed to seduce him?" Bahorel said, his lips trembling. Enjolras mildly shrugged.

"Shave your legs." he suggested.

* * *

Damp circles formed on Javert's hall-rug. A spring shower had launched itself upon Courfeyrac and Eponine as they had been out sniffing around for clues. Thénardier's gang's whereabouts were still a mystery.

Courfeyrac examined his sopping wet shoes and shook himself like a dog as rainwater flew from his entire body and landed on any surrounding furniture. His socks smelt of the Seine.

"Eww." he said. Javert, cloth in hand, gaped at him from the kitchen doorway. He was wearing a fetching pale pink apron. Courfeyrac could not resist saying "nice pinny" whenever he saw it. Javert only wore it to protect his generally immaculate clothes from the dust he cleaned up every day, or so he said. The others noticed that he wore it suspiciously often – he obviously thought it looked good on him.

"Sorry about the wet thing, Psycho Phil. It'll probably dry naturally anyway." Courfeyrac said, and strolled into the parlour. Fantine looked up from the armchair.

"I hope the disgusting damp stench is worth whatever it is you're going to tell me." she said doubtfully. She was met with a shrug.

"Gyah." she said.

"We've been trying to track down Swifty's father's old gang. They're all bounty heads. No luck so far, but we haven't checked everywhere yet."

"I think I'll find 'em. They're not all that clever after all." Eponine reassured Fantine. Javert appeared at the doorway, a tray of freshly baked biscuits in one hand. He was wearing matching oven-gloves to his apron.

"I am going to have to air out that carpet yet again because of you, Courfeyrac." he growled. Courfeyrac grabbed a biscuit and shoved it into his mouth.

"What do you mean 'again'?"

"A few weeks ago you – eh-hem – expelled the contents of your stomach onto it."

"I was ill, alright?" Courfeyrac said. No one wanted to follow that up with any more details of the gruesome event. Un wandered into the room and gave them a small bark.

"No, you cannot have a biscuit, Un." Javert told the dog sternly. Un turned around and intentionally stuck his rear-end out towards Javert in disgust. Fantine leaned in to Eponine, and if she had been wearing spectacles she would have pushed them up her nose.

"Let's change the subject. Tell me something about yourself. Anything you like." she said in a business-like manner. Eponine thought for a moment.

"Well, you know my hair? It's a sorta browny gingery colour, right? Well, when I was younger it was a coffee kinda brown. Bet you've learnt something new, eh?" she said. Her response was a raised eyebrow and upper lip to go with it.

"Uh." Fantine said. "Not quite what I had in mind, but never mind. Essential information, nonetheless. Yes. Umm."

"Why do you want to know?" Eponine asked, habitually feeling the square shape of her special contract in her pocket.

"Well, this is a chapter about you, after all. I just thought that this would help the reader a little."

"Really? You did?"

"Yes."

"Well, I have a question for you." Javert entered the conversation, as if he owned it, "It is about this."

He set the biscuits down on an end table. He then seized Eponine's left arm and brushed a pink scar that was slightly elevated from her skin.

"Where did this come from?" he asked, the concern in his voice small enough for only a microscope to register.

"My dad." Eponine mumbled, and looked at a similar marking on her right wrist.

"That too?"

"No, umm, that was chickenpox. Or smallpox. Whatever it was. I was very young." she said defensively, wrapping her arms around her torso.

"Aww, was he a mean old man?" Fantine said in a childish voice.

"A bit like Phil here?" Courfeyrac asked. Javert let out a resentful snarl.

"No, he just didn't care at all. The Thénardiers have always been renowned for their first-rate selfishness. It's a family tradition I suppose. My dad wasn't really violent to me, except this one time that he threw a boot at me. That's where the scar came from. He was much worse towards my little sister. I dunno why. She was always too scared to obey him. I sometimes wonder where they are now ... and if they think about me too. Probably not. They're Thénardiers after all."

The others lowered they heads as an awkward veil enveloped the room. Un crunched away beside Javert.

"There you have it. The bad part of my life. Well, the good parts were not all that brilliant but at least I had a change of clothes every day and dolls and things. I don't think –."

"You little thieving whelp!" Javert screamed, picking up the bare tray from the table. Un let his tongue loll around his chin, a satisfied expression.

"You ate my walnut surprise biscuits! They were not meant for you! You are just as bad as these pathetic excuses for humans that I have to put up with in my home." Javert raged, throwing the tray down.

"Walnut surprise? I thought they tasted more like chocolate chunks and sultanas." Courfeyrac said, salivating to make his taste buds recall the flavours within the biscuits.

"Anyway, don't worry Eponine. We'll track down the gang. Just think of the money. That's my constant motivation. I don't let personal feelings get in the way of hefty cash payouts." Fantine said softly. Courfeyrac snorted. Meanwhile, a fuming Javert had retreated to the kitchen, where the smell of his recently deceased biscuits still lingered. Un followed him, his head down in an apologetic stance. Javert sighed and addressed the small dog.

"Look, I will bake you some dog biscuits specifically for your consumption. Though I suspect Courfeyrac will have those anyway."

* * *

That evening, Eponine ushered her fellow bounty hunters out of the house and down the street. They could sense that something was definitely going to happen in the not too distant future and so went out suitably attired. Javert opted for his greatcoat which 'swished' in a cape-like fashion and one of his prized hats for added effect. In contrast, Courfeyrac put on a crumpled beige shirt upon which he left the two top buttons undone. This was his classic 'Casanova' look, yet he wasn't too keen on flirting with Thénardier's gang members unless there was something Eponine wasn't telling him. In her rather flamboyant style, Fantine was in a slinky red dress with a velvet shawl wrapped around her waist and elbows (much like Fay Valentine and her red jacket). She had contemplated wearing a rather bright gold number, but considered it inappropriate for this specific mission – she thought that it was only a matter of time before Courfeyrac would ask her to seduce a criminal to bring him to justice and the gold dress would be perfect for that. Eponine was happy to wear her usual white vest, but matched it with breeches which went halfway down her lower legs instead of a skirt. She rather liked boys clothes, in much the same way that Javert was fond of his pink apron.

She took them into a side-street filled with curiosity shops and cramped inns which were really no more than bars. Next to 'The Crowing Cockerel' was a narrow alleyway stuffed with refuse and junk. Fantine prayed that they wouldn't have to go down this particularly smelly route, yet her heart sank when Eponine stepped into it.

"Is this where you grew up?" Fantine asked disgustedly.

"You are one to talk, ex-whore." Javert snapped in Eponine's defence.

"Shut up both of you. The alleyways have ears and see everything. You don't want to meet the owners of those ears and eyes." Eponine hissed. She made a quick turn towards a partially invisible door. It appeared to be embedded into the very wall and was half covered in brown ivy. Eponine tapped eleven times on the damp wood of the door, and pushed it open. It opened with an agonising creak.

"Right." she said quietly, "Don't make eye-contact. Don't trip anyone up. Watch where you go and don't step in or on anything. Ignore the smells. And smirk. That's the universal expression in places like these."

"Is this really necessary? I detest places of sin such as this." Javert grumbled.

"If you want to eat, then just do as she says." Courfeyrac whispered, and nodded at Eponine. She led them in, and immediately an oppressive atmosphere forced all four of them to hunch their shoulders and lower their heads. It put Fantine in mind of César O' Craps' gambling den - only with more red. This place was overly red. And where there wasn't red, there was the darkest black and the dirtiest brown. Now as you all know, Fantine had seen both beauty and horror in her life, and the extremes of both. Yet none of the awful experiences she had endured in Montreuil-sur-mer amounted to the chaotic mood that filled her senses in this embodiment of hell. Courfeyrac was trying to ignore his similar feelings of dread and was striving to identify the five gang members. This was no easy task through the smoke of undisinguishable colour which stained the very air. Javert hung at the back of their small group, attempting to keep his evening's meal from spewing over the repungant characters all around him. There were gypsies, tramps, thieves, gang members, gamblers, prostitutes, illegal snuff dealers, beefy thugs, assassins, drunken old men and urchins with nervous twitches from being exposed to far too much adult indulgences ... all the kinds of people that Javert loathed without exception. He was past being merely disgusted by entering into their undesireable company. Eponine strode ahead, certain that she recognised many of the faces which turned towards her.

"This is where they'll be if they're around at all." she told her friends, who were lagging behind. Fantine pulled her shawl over her modesty as one leering man drooled over her dress.

"They're very rude here, aren't they?" she said. The man followed her in dogged pursuit. His face was almost familiar, much to Fantine's dismay.

"Aren't you ... errm, Eponine? Look at this gentleman here."

Eponine spun around and immediately opened her mouth. It was indeed worth turning around to see the man doing indescribable things to Fantine's backside.

"Babet! You pervert!" Eponine shrieked and launched herself onto his shoulders. In a fit of hysteria, she clamped her teeth onto his left ear and growled like Un.

"I knew that I should never give that girl sugar." Javert said to himself as he watched the bizzare display. Courfeyrac spotted Claquesous hovering nearby, his mouth quivering. Obviously Eponine had always been a force to be reckoned with.

"Where are the others?!" she was screaming at Babet's swollen and bleeding earlobe. He pointed at the dotted members of Thénardier's gang, and Courfeyrac went up and grabbed Claquesous by his arm.

"Trigger, Phil, get the others!" he called as Claquesous struggled against his grip.

"We two have to get three guys? Nice plan, idiot." Fantine snarled in response. She looked at Javert in wild desperation, who in turn searched for a solution. He could not fail to notice that the disturbance caused by Eponine had gone under the radar ... no one was watching them. It seemed that this was a usual, almost dull occurance here.

"I suppose we will have to knock them out ..." Javert said, taking out his prize night-stick from under his greatcoat. He should have handed it in when he left the police service, but what damage could he have done with it when he was lifeless in the Seine? He wasn't expecting to be randomly ressurected.

"That's probably our only option." Fantine nodded, and strode towards one of the men that Babet had singled out. It was Gueulemer, or 'Blue Fingers' as he had been named by the police. She raised an eyebrow at him as Javert slipped round to his back. Gueulemer smiled at the attractive woman who had approached him.

"Well _bonjour_ there, monsieur." she purred, and a sickening thonk followed. Gueulemer's smirk remained, yet his eyes glazed over and he fell onto Fantine with a wheezy sound. Javert appeared where Gueulemer used to be, his night-stick raised over his head with a strange red like substance on its tip.

"Ah." the ex-policeman said. Fantine dragged the unconscious man back to where Courfeyrac was wrestling with Claquesous, and went to spot their next target. Brujon, 'The Silent Man', was at one of the many bars in the place, a mug of steaming ale in his large hand. He was on his own, taking sips every ten seconds or so. Fantine and Javert moved stealthily across the room to the bar, and once again Fantine turned on her well-practised charms.

"Oh monsieur, may I have a teensy taste of your ale?" she said with eye-lids flapping. Brujon hesitated for a moment, trying to determine her motive for addressing him. For reasons only he knew, he handed over the drink. Fantine smiled, raised the mug to her lips (which she had been moistening through their one-sided conversation) and downed the lot. Brujon's small eyes widened. He then toppled to the floor after another disgusting sound. Javert hoisted him over his shoulder and wandered over to where Gueulemer lay. Eponine was still on Babet like an outraged dog, and he was sporting several new bite marks. To put an end to this useless display, Javert bopped him to the head, and then Claquesous. Eponine and Courfeyrac collapsed from exhaustion.

"Your method seems ... like cheating somehow." Eponine remarked between breaths.

"Yes, well I do not beat around the proverbial bush. Now, was there another?" Javert said. Eponine motioned towards a handsome young man near the bar that Brujon had been at.

"Montparnasse ..." she murmured. And now she wanted to cry. She had _liked_ Montparnasse, and to some extent had _trusted_ Montparnasse. But this was business. It was either his freedom or Javert's spagetti. And nothing stood between the bounty hunters and food, no matter how bland the flavour. She crawled over to him, her eyes watering. He was talking jovially to another man, a lanky man with clothes that looked dusty beyond airing. She recognised the way that this stranger stood, the way he rolled his hands when he spoke. His face came into view, and her eyes saw eyes of the same hue.

"Papa!!" she cried, throwing herself on his ankle. Thénardier jumped at this unexpected creature's odd greeting.

"JESUS! 'Ponine! What the ..." he said, looking down at his daughter. It was then that Eponine remembered ... he had left everyone behind. Why was he back in France now?

"Wasn't America good enough for you then, oh dearest Papa?" she asked her father sulkily, who wiped his nose on his sleeve.

"Nah, it was all right, except that they didn't have any frogs legs. Ha! Imagine that ... no frogs legs." he said, and licked his lips, "It's good to see you again my girl. Montparnasse was about to tell me what you're up to at the moment. Making your father proud, eh?"

Eponine laughed, very loud, at this. She took Montparnasse by the arm and led him to the other bounty hunters.

"Yes, Papa, yes ..."

Javert had his night-stick at the ready. He had already possibly caused brain-damage to four people that evening, why not make it five? As Courfeyrac and Fantine restrained Montparnasse by the arms, Eponine skipped back to her father and turned him around so that he wouldn't see what was about to befall young Montparnasse.

"I thought I recognised that woman over there ... and that tall man. Who are they?" Thénardier asked.

"I don't know really, Montparnasse's friends I think." Eponine said hurriedly, "So where's my sister? Don't tell me you abandoned Azelma too."

"She's around somewhere. I wouldn't have left anyone in that strange place. Am-er-ica." mused Thénardier. Meanwhile, Javert and Courfeyrac had tied up the gang and were in the process of dragging them outside. No one was questioning them. It was all rather surreal.

"Well, off you pop, my girl. And remember to come back to your Papa soon. It can be like the old days ... we had fun, didn't we? Me and Azelma will be waiting for you. Only, regretfully, I don't know where your mother is. We can look for her together, eh? Then you tell me what you've been up to these past months and I'll tell you about Am-er-ica. I'll see you soon, my girl." Thénardier said kindly to his daughter, and gave her a friendly pinch. He then resumed drinking and began chatting to the bartender. Eponine was rather disturbed by his positive manner.

"Errr, yes, Papa. See you soon ..." She turned and ran to Fantine who was guarding the motionless form of Montparnasse. The older woman seemed unusually despondant.

"Eponine ... I need to talk to you about your father. Do you remember ... so long ago now ... a little girl coming to live with you at the inn in Montfermeil?" she said, her eyes showing regret.

"Yes ... Cosette." Eponine said, with a hint of bitterness. Before she could hear about the revelance of this, Courfeyrac and Javert came back and took an end of Montparnasse each.

"Right, let's take this rabble to the station." Javert said briskly, pleased with their work (or rather, his night-stick wielding). He was also upbeat because of the prospect of money passing through his hands for the capture of these bounty heads. He imagined lots of franc notes and coins crying out, 'Javert, take me home!' in their squeaky little money voices.

* * *

Eponine said nothing until they were back at Javert's house. He himself had gone down to the basement to put the money they had received in the safe.

"I'm going to bed. Good night." Eponine announced, and pretended to yawn.

"Thank you for all your help in this, 'Ponine." Courfeyrac said, giving her a squeeze, "I know it must have been difficult, turning in all your Father's friends."

Eponine then retreated to her bed, Un cradled in her arms as she went up the stairs. Fantine watched her go up, her eyes narrowed. When would she be able to tell the girl everything?

* * *

Two hours later, Eponine slipped down from her attic domain to the moonlit landing. Her boots dangled by their laces from her hand, while the other helped to balance a box on her head, stuffed full of odd clothes and gadgetry. She had to be careful not to rouse Un, who would be sure to cause a commotion if he saw her. But it was not Un watching her from the shadows near the stairs.

"And where are you off to in this late hour?" Fantine said, her face appearing as Eponine's bare foot touched the top step.

"I'm going away for a while." she replied after thought, and continued down.

"Who are you trying to impress? Certainly not me or Courfeyrac, I'm guessing. Yet _he_ would get quite a strange impression if you just disappeared -"

"You're one to talk!" Eponine hissed. She flicked her head around, her hair flying wildly to keep up. They scowled at each other, both poised for attack. Fantine could say no more on the subject, and so Eponine padded silently away. She was beginning to get hopeful that there would be no more interruptions, but the biggest problem lay in the hallway. Javert, who had been letting his thirst recover in the kitchen, was coming out of the dark kitchen with a glass of water and a candle.

"What do I owe the honour?" he half-smiled, not noticing the crate on her head.

"I think I'll go for a midnight wander. Good for the ... umm, the pancreas." Eponine said absently, reaching out for the front door in earnest.

"Wait a moment, please. Do not tell me you are going out at this hour? This is very odd behaviour. Is anything the matter, hmm?" Javert pressed, placing the water on the end of the banister.

"... I'm fine. Just need time on my own."

"Is that - a box? Where are you going? Ep -"

She was already half out of the door before he could stop her.

"Think of this as my time to visit the Seine. Just to see it. As you did, that night." she said, and her long jacket flashed out of view. Had he been anyone else, Javert would have cried out after her. Instead, he took a substantial sip of water and made his way to bed. Only, as he did so, a couple of unruly drops of water fell to the floor as the glass shook in his unsteady grasp.

* * *

**Chirpy music**

Announcer : Next time in The Bounty Hunters of Paris, witness the events which will transform the bedraggled students into lovely ladies! Madame Adrienne tries her hardest, but will they be the belles of the ball or less intoxicating than the punch? And, what will happen to poor Eponine as she struggles with the past and the present as they collide in a dramatic turn of events? Forced affection, cold deceit, unbalanced outbursts and the event of the century will be waiting for you to discover the next episode!

Fantine : And of course, there'll be plenty of fan-service too. Tee hee.

Announcer : Hey, this isn't Neon Genesis Evangelion you know. I don't think Victor Hugo would have approved of fan-service.

Fantine : I _said_, there'll be fan-service. Buh-bye!

**Credits roll.**


	17. The Stars And Moon Are Always Together A...

The Bounty Hunters Of Paris

Part Seventeen - The Stars And Moon Are Always Together At Night

Note : I've just realised what a HUGE fanfic this is ... do I write too much? I would have thought that the immense word count would have put many readers off ... I must thank everyone who continues to read this tale of utter lunacy.

For all my fans (and there are many of you ... ha ha, I'm joking) there is news of my new fanfic on the horizon! It is yet another cross-over (I can hear the groans already), but this time with the immortal game series of Final Fantasy. I have many great ideas for this fic and the first part should be ready as soonas this one is over. Hurrah. Many of the Les Mis peeps will be thrown into a world of monsters and magic, yet the land bears a strange resemblence to the France that they're usually used to ... one of the characters will be a Princess! Can you guess who? Hee hee, I'm excited now. does a spazzy dance>

And yes, the whole 'lady' thing in this is heavily inspired by that god of TV shows, 'Little Britain'. So I thank Matt Lucas and David Walliams for the 'lady' gags.

Oh and Sparrow, here's some more 'food'. Thanks for your unwavering support.

* * *

A few days after her departure, Eponine returned minus her box. During her absence, Javert had paced around the house day and night awaiting word from the girl as to her whereabouts. He had ordered Courfeyrac to check the obituries in the newspapers for her name or description.

"Isn't it too early for her to have an obitury if she is dead? Besides, why would anyone care about a little _gamin_ girl? They'd just chuck her in a paupers' grave. They wouldn't be concerned about 'cause of death' and blah blah blah." Courfeyrac had reasoned with Javert, who had been busy biting his thumb. When Eponine did shuffle into the house, he stared at her with his grey eyes with a mixture of relief and disapproval. She had a retort to this expression all worked out.

"Well how would you feel if you had to send your old friends and father's comrades to jail to face the worst kind of hell on earth for the rest of their lives?" she said to him defensively.

"I did not say a word. Anyway, you did do the right thing. God will be proud of you." Javert said quietly.

"Yay, we're all happy families again!" Courfeyrac cried out, glomping Javert and reaching out to grab Eponine, "We could have a proper group-hug if Trigger was here ... but she's locked herself away in the bathroom."

He had his arms around the tall man's shoulders and his legs wrapped around his waistline. He had pulled Eponine into the hug, so that her face was embedded into Javert's chest.

"Yet again you have restricted my breathing privilages." she mumbled, refering to the incident in the whole 'Siren' episode. Javert turned his head gave his glomper a frown which said, 'I never want you to touch me again, let alone hug me'. His sideburns tickled Courfeyrac's cheeks and he giggled at the sensation. He had no option other than to let go and slide to the ground.

"All right, I'm off." he said and rubbed his face. Eponine peeled herself off of Javert and found that her eyes had crossed. She was having problems getting them back to normal when Fantine swept down the stairs in a new ensemble of black silk and pale blue ribbon.

"Ah, you're back." she said to Eponine, who was trying to prod her eyeballs with her fingers.

"If I could see you, I'd say hello back." she said. Javert straightened his clothes out and addressed the others.

"I have found a bounty which we can pursue now that Eponine is back with us. Let us discuss this in the parlour. I do so hate standing around in my narrow hallway." So they trundled into the large room, where Un was whimpering in the corner. At the sight of Eponine, he perked up and bounded over.

"Un, I missed you!" she smiled and immediately regretted leaving the dog behind. Her eyes suddenly went back to normal and she winced.

"So tell us about this bounty, then." Courfeyrac said.

"He is verie Olde." Javert sayd, pyckyng uppe a Neuspapur.

"Howe Olde?" Courfeyrac askkyd.

"Abowt Seventie, or so the Neuspapur sayes."

"O, I havve herd of hym." Eponine sayd, lookyng at the page, "Olivier Leroux is hys reel Nayme. So, he is calyng hymselff 'The Bombardier' thease dayes. Nice alyas. He alwayyes wase intwo artillerye and exploshuns."

"Whye is everyone talkkyng lyke this?" Fantine sayd, ande triede too putt a stoppe too it. "That was like a cross between Olde English and Welsh. It's rather contagious."

"I do not know; I simply said he was Olde, and it seemed to begin from there." Javert said, looking around for Olde imps or magic as an explanation for the strange speech. The closest thing he could find was Eponine, but she certainly wasn't magical.

"I expect he'll be at that ball in ten days time. The Grande Ball where all the officials of Paris get to show off their trophy wives and prize-winningly bushy beards. That would be a great place for a gunpowder explosion." said Fantine.

"Oh god, she's using that intuition again. I'll call for a doctor." Courfeyrac said.

"In the Olde days, people used to spell words however they wanted." Javert said a little too late in the conversation, all the same showing off his historical wisdom.

"Ack, if only that were true now. I used to get told off for SPAG at school, especially for spelling." Courfeyrac sighed. "And now, I must go and stroke the safe downstairs. I so love having money around."

"I'd join you if I hadn't got much more important things to do." Fantine said haughtily, and floated out of the room. She had been wearing about a whole bottle of _parfum_ and the spot in which she had been standing still reeked of it.

"Who's she trying to impress? Is she preparing for this ball thing, I wonder ...?" Courfeyrac said, sticking out his lower lip in rumination of her intentions. He got up and made his way slowly to the basement. That left Javert and Eponine in uneasy silence. Un yawned and looked expectantly at Javert. He was desperate for more of those biscuits.

"I was not impressed by your disappearing act. It was childish and unthoughtful. I had thought you had grown-up. But I supposed wrong." Javert said eventually.

"Oh please, if you're going to lay into me like a school-master then I will dismiss myself from the room if you don't mind." Eponine said, going to get up. "You just can't admit that you were worried about me while I was gone ... am I right?"

Javert noted her slight smirk and rustled the newspaper in his hands indignantly.

"Oh just leave then. Who am I to stop you?" he said. In Eponine's arms, Un could sense the tension between the two humans and seriously considered chewing on Javert's ankle like he would a pork joint. He let his tongue hang out lazily as he watched his beloved Eponine put him down and stride out the parlour. Un did not understand these odd humanoids and their unrational behaviour one bit. Anyway, the small dog did not let his doggy musings interfere with his whining for biscuits. The large human left in the room shouted something at him, and Un took it that that meant 'no more biscuits'. The large human was indeed a giver and a taker.

* * *

"Why are we here, Lesgle?" Grantaire asked his friend. He had just woken up from his latest drunken stupor and was wondering why he was propped up in front of a ladies-wear boutique.

"It's Enjolras's fault. He wants us to go to the Grande Ball. Don't you remember?"

"Nooooo."

Bahorel took the largest breath of his second life and peeked into the shop.

"Umm, coo-eee?" he called. A rather large lady turned around and raised a penciled eyebrow at the floating face at her door. She was large in as much as she was both tall and plump and was wearing the most enormous dress that Bahorel had ever seen. It seemed to include a mile or two of taffeta and ribbons cascaded from her tall hairstyle. She looked like a member of the royal court from the eighteenth century who hadn't realised that well over fifty years had passed and that fashions had become dramatically less flamboyant.

"Are you Madame Adrienne?" Bahorel said, bowing his head as not to show his giggling. The sight of her could have sobred Grantaire up from even a paralyetic status.

"Yes, that is me young sir." she said in such a nasal voice that it couldn't possibly have been natural. She must have had a few invisible nose-clips to pull that voice off. But, as any student such as Bahorel knows, invisible nose-clips do not and are not likely to exist at any point in history. Bahorel came fully into the shop with Lesgle dragging Grantaire in tow. Grantaire raised his head in shock as his pink eyes came to rest on the entirety of Madame Adrienne.

"Whoa, what is that? Is that a world record attempt at the largest birthday cake ever made?" he said rather loudly. Lesgle shoved his entire fist into his mouth and smiled apologetically.

"Don't mind him, he's on a daytrip. We got him from the Bastille. The loony-bin department of the Bastille." he said.

"Well, I chose to ignore whatever it was that he said." Madame Adrienne said calmly, flicking through several papers on the front desk.

"Madame, we have been sent by Enjolras to seek your assistance in a highly secretive operation." Bahorel said, bowing his head again.

"Oh, Enjolras. A dear boy. I knew his mother well. I know many people well. I probably knew your mothers as well. I know everyone darlings. I used to babysit little Enjolras, dear boy he is. He did grow up fast. Nothing escapes my notice, I see everything my loves." Madame Adrienne attacked their ear-drums with this hurried ramble while keeping the same collected expression on her overly powdered face.

"Basically, we need dresses." Lesgle said, not wanting to drag out the conversation before getting to the point.

"Of course you do darlings, all the young men are dressing as ladies nowadays, it's the height of fashion. Flounces, petticoats, the works. Any special occasion? I know all the social events."

"The Grande Ball."

"How marvellous, splendid, you'll be the belles of the ball, I shall make you visions of Venus, sublime, I know how to do these things my little beauties." She showed them into a backroom where she produced a tape-measure from her bosom. Lesgle was nearly sick all over Grantaire. Madame Adrienne then took Bahorel aside and made him raise his arms.

"My my, what a dainty frame you have my darling." she cooed as she attacked him with the tape-measure. Bahorel didn't know if he was to take this as a compliment or to inquire if she was questioning his masculinity.

"Thank you?" he said as she did her last measurement between his legs. He involuntarily squeaked.

"Fabulous, I know exactly what you'd look good in, soft pastels will compliment your creamy skin. Next please, you there with no hair."

"Hey, you don't have to be so rude." Lesgle grumbled as he swapped places with Bahorel, "I wish I could've roped Jehan into switching with me ..."

"Pastels for you too, sweetie, pastel pink and vanilla." Madame Adrienne said as she checked his leg length.

"What?! I'm not wearing pink." he cried, folding his arms in dissatisfaction.

"All right, a healthy red then. A shiny satin, I think, that would go divinely with your shimmering eyes. You're done now, bring me the next darling. Stand up straight, darling!" she said as Grantaire swayed on the spot.

"Hands off me, I could get you arrested." he said as he poked her face in a mildly threatening manner. Madame Adrienne slapped his hand away.

"Hold him still, my young sirs, he obviously has had a few too many ales, used to have that problem myself only with vodka."

"I think she's on more than vodka today." Lesgle whispered to Bahorel as they took one of Grantaire's flailing arms each. Once all the measurements where completed, Madame Adrienne bustled into another room and gave her commands to two young women at sewing tables.

"You're going to have to sober up for the ball, Grantaire." Lesgle said to his friend, who spat vigourously in response.

"Come back in four days darlings, your gowns shall be finished and ready to wear. My girls and I are the best dress makers in town, the very elite, ask anyone my sweet cherubs. Now off you go, send Enjolras my love and help yourselves to cookies on the way out." She motioned to a bowl on the front desk. Lesgle grabbed a handful and rammed them down Grantaire's throat in an attempt to sobre him up. Bahorel happily chewed on one and bowed to their bizzare hostess.

"Good day, Madame. Thank you for everything."

"No no, thank you my darlings, ta ta for now."

Once outside, Bahorel and Lesgle breathed sighs of relief, while Grantaire merely collapsed onto the ground.

* * *

Ten days later, everyone who was anyone was busily preparing for the Grande Ball. And of course, the three students and the bounty hunters were also ready to go. Eponine had hired some expensive looking clothes for them all to wear (probably from a black-market clothing vendor which she had briefly mentioned in the past). She had ordered herself a pretty blue dress and had spent the entire morning curling her hair into soft ringlets.

"I saw a girl with hair like this once. They became her very well." she explained to Fantine, who was simply assembling her shoulder-length blonde locks into a tight bun. She left a few bits hanging down around her face to take the severity off the style. The girl to whom Eponine was referring was Cosette, and she was sure that she and Marius would attend such a prestigious event. Fantine's gown was almost silver in colour and looked very elegant on the tall woman.

As for the men, Eponine had given them similiar gentlemenly ball attire, except that Javert's was his favourite shade of navy blue (which he was very pleased with) and Coufeyrac's was white.

"Dark colours are in this season." he complained, yet all Eponine could do was shrug. She had also gotten hold of four fake invitations to the ball, describing them as a family.

"I'm the mother? I'm _his_ wife?!" Fantine cried out, pointing at Javert in disbelief.

"Yup."

"That doesn't bear thinking about."

"Look, you're old enough to be mine and Cour-Cour's mother."

"What's_ that _supposed to mean?"

"What will people say if they recognise me? Think about what it will do to my reputation ... married to an ex-whore!" Javert intervened.

"You don't have a reputation anymore. You've been excluded once and for all from general society. Whose going to be there to recognise you anyway?" Fantine snapped back.

"Now now, we're supposed to be a happy family. Let's start acting like one." Courfeyrac grinned, putting his arms around his 'parents'. Their expressions soured further, and they looked just as unhappy when they arrived at the Petis Palais that evening. They had hired the best fiacre they could find to make their entrance with. That meant that it was shabby, smelly and should have been retired several decades ago. So they were pleased to see that a similarly awful fiacre pulled up alongside theirs as the waited to disembark by the palace doors. Three rather strange looking ladies cursed their way out of the other fiacre and paid their driver. One, the bounty hunters noted, had quite hairy arms and her one of her lady-friends was having difficulty standing up. It must have been the shoes ...

"I have never seen ladies like that before who were not on the streets." Javert commented. Fantine shot him a deadly scowl.

"Ha ha, Psycho, you've never seen that much of ladies' flesh before - so how would you know they were odd looking?" Courfeyrac chuckled, nudging his friend in the ribs. They all got out and assembled themselves as Eponine had instructed; Javert and Fantine reluctantly linked arms and forced loving smiles and adoring eyes on each other, while their 'children' followed them silently and occasionally flashed each other rude facial expressions. Sibling rivalry was something that Eponine knew a lot about, and she was used to having the upper-hand.

Javert handed the four tickets to a well-dressed sentry who looked fairly traumatised. He had just allowed the three ladies through and the sight of this 'family unit' was nothing strange in comparison. They went inside and tried not to outwardly show their internal astonishment. It was as far-removed from the place of sin that Eponine had taken them to when they found Thénardier's gang as could possibly be imagined. Eponine had barely seen such lavish surroundings in her most wonderful dreams, and it was like nothing the others had percieved when they had passed the grand residence outside. They tagged along behind a group of guests who were being led to the largest ballroom where the event was mainly taking place. As they walked past priceless artifacts and antiques, the more dishonest side of Eponine's brain began to spin with thoughts of theft, yet Javert's lectures on morals had more-or-less conditioned her against such things. She did spy a figure moving around by a shady doorway, their arms laden with indisguishable objects - then again, they could have been anyone, not just Olivier Leroux with his explosives.

When they got to the ballroom, Javert beckoned them to a quiet corner to discuss their plan.

"We will keep our eyes open for anything even remotely suspicious. We should patrol the perimeters of the room, a side each." he said.

"One; this room is not square, it's hexagonal. Two; that would look suspicious in itself. Three; it's not very original. We'll have to dance and get right into the crowd." Courfeyrac said.

"Dance? I will not dance. Could you imagine me dancing?" Javert laughed and shook his head. Fantine took his hands and twirled him around.

"Come on, don't be so reserved. With me as a partner, no one will suspect that you're an amateur." she said, and pulled him into the swell of waltzers and large skirts. Eponine and Courfeyrac became hysterical at the sight of them, and had to go to another part of the room to calm down.

"Right." Eponine said at last, "I saw a guy out there in the hallway who was doing the lurking thing. I'll go and investigate. If anyone asks what I'm doing, I'll say I lost my handkerchief in the shadows. What are you going to do?"

"I'll do some research. All the lovely young ladies will want to talk to me. If I don't hear anything, I'll come and find you." They nodded to each other and seperated.

Meanwhile, the students were tottering around by the refreshments. Grantaire was already on his tenth jug of punch and Lesgle and Bahorel were ready to hide under a table somewhere.

"Dude, I'm seriously hating Enjolras right now." Lesgle said. And then, from nowhere, there were their targets; the Mayor of Paris, the Domestic Secretary, and the Prefect of Police, M. Henri-Joseph Gisquet.

"Oh, what delightful young ladies!" exclaimed the Domestic Secretary as they saw the students. He slinked over to them and gave them a toothy grin.

"Pray tell dear ladies, what are your names?" he asked. Bahorel cleared his throat.

"Well, I am ... errr ... Bahora, sir." he said in a fake womanly way.

"I'm Lesgla. Or Boussetta if you prefer." Lesgle said in his normal voice, provoking a frown from Bahorel, who tried to carry on the introductions.

"And this is our friend, errr -"

"Dolly." Grantaire slurred. The Domestic Secretary, who obviously was a letch on the quiet, took Grantaire's hand and covered it with his lips.

"My dear Dolly, it is an honour." he cooed. The Mayor offered his arm to Lesgle.

"Madamoiselle, may I have this dance?" he said.

"Yeah, whatever." Lesgle said unenthusiastically and accepted the arm. Bahorel blushed and half looked at Gisquet.

"Are you having a nice time here this evening, Monsieur?" he said, hiding his lower face with his lace fan. Gisquet observed the ballroom with scrutiny.

"Not really my scene, not really my scene, Madamoiselle. Give me paperwork anyday. However, with such attractive company, who could resist coming here and having it off with pretty creatures such as yourself?"

"Pardon moi, Monsieur?"

"Let's dance, my little scrumpet." Gisquet said, and took Bahorel by the waist. They stumbled into the dancing area and spun around and around with the rest of the couples.

"You're quite dainty, aren't you? I like 'em with less meat on 'em. Of course, any woman is better than none." Gisquet said conversationally as he led their waltz. Bahorel giggled, yet really he was very disturbed. They were nearly knocked over by another couple. Gisquet's small eyes widened in recognition when he saw the man.

"Why, Inspector Jellyfish ..." he said. Yet before he could say anymore, Javert had whisked Fantine off and disappeared into a haze of skirts and pencil moustaches.

"You knew that tall man?" Bahorel asked, thinking that he knew the man from somewhere too. Of course, Javert had been at the barricades all that time ago, but the student had forgotten about the police spy whom the revolutionaries had unceremoniously taken hostage.

"Yes, he used to be a police Inspector. Never suited to the job, though. It's been so much better without him depressing the _gendarmes_ and office workers. He could darken the sun, that man could."

Bahorel nodded politely, and caught a glimpse of Lesgle roughly leading the Mayor round. The Mayor seemed totally entranced by this burly woman in a red gown and allowed this un-feminine treatment to continue on into the next dance.

As the students set about charming the pants (translation from English English to American English: pants underwear) off the officials in their own unique ways, Courfeyrac was trying to catch snippets of conversation as he meandered around the room. Nothing was being said about 'The Bombardier' and he was beginning to doubt Fantine's theory that he was to strike here tonight. As he smiled at a pair of young ladies, he heard a very unusual sound coming from his pocket. He put his hand in and pulled out one of Eponine's talkie-walkie contraptions.

"_Hey, Cour-Cour! Respond!_" it was saying. Courfeyrac lowered his face to it and tried speaking into it.

"Hello? Swifty? What is the matter? Can you hear me?"

"_Yes, you've got to come here quickly. He's here, I've got him in my sights_."

"'The Bombardier'?"

"_Yup. He's just beyond the large alcove in the hallway_."

"Stay there. I'll bring the others." Courfeyrac said, aware that the young ladies were regarding him in an odd fashion. He smiled at them again and went to look for Fantine and Javert. They were in the centre of the dancefloor, and it seemed as if both were getting into the swing of it. Courfeyrac approached them, observing their light steps and perfect twirls.

"Hey, oh dear parents, your little princess needs some help. It's 'The Bombardier'. You can dance all you want afterwards." he said, and yanked Javert away from Fantine.

"You must give this a go, Courfeyrac, I mean son; it is truly invigourating, perhaps even more so than a pinch of snuff." Javert said happily.

"Great. Fine. Let's get going."

"I'll be back-up. I'd only get in the way, and I would hate to ruin this nice dress." Fantine said, hanging back. Courfeyrac was not concerned and did not argue with her. He and Javert wandered down the vast hallway and looked for the specified alcove.

"What has she found, then?"

"'The Bombardier', that's what. If you had been concentrating on the mission the you would've known. I can't understand why you and Trigger were so into the whole dancing thing. Now, let's just focus on this -"

"I was rather good, was I not? It was the music, the glorious atmosphere, I felt my legs become as light as air -"

"We have an old man who thinks he's in the English Gunpowder Plot, you know, he thinks he's flippin' Guy Fawkes and all you care about is prancing about with a crazy woman who has a gun fetish." Courfeyrac snarled and stepped into the shadows. "I think this is it."

The alcove shaded a small door which opened up a stone passageway. This passageway became increasingly wider until they reached a small ledge which looked upon a cavernous space. Eponine was crouched on this ledge, her eyes fixed on 'The Bombardier' who was below them. He was surrounded by a large collection of wooden barrels.

"There he is. You took your time." Eponine murmured, checking her gun.

"Blame Trigger and Psycho here. So, what's the best way to go about this?" Courfeyrac asked.

"We talk to him, nice and simply. We cannot afford to provoke him to do anything drastic." Javert said. Slowly standing up, Eponine called out softly to the old man.

"Hey, mister! I'm lost. Can you answer a few questions?"

"What, who are you? Oh my ... Eponine?" 'The Bombardier' said in surprise. He did not appear to notice Courfeyrac and Javert.

"Ha ha, yeah, it's me Ollie. I'm coming down. It's been a while!" Eponine said sweetly, and climbed down from the ledge. While she was exchanging pleasantries with the old man, Courfeyrac was itching for some action. They were never going to get him to a police post at this rate. Javert could sense his agitated state and almost agreed with it. He was still on a high from his waltzing exploits.

"I'm going to take the initiative now." Courfeyrac said and leapt down in front of Eponine and the old man. 'The Bombardier' was shocked for the second time that evening.

"Who are you? Get out of here."

"No no, old man, I shall only leave when you are walking with your hands above your head towards the nearest exit." Courfeyrac smirked, unholstering his gun. Javert materialised behind him, and vaguely shrugged.

"Eponine, do you know these fools? Don't you realise that in this cave there's enough gunpowder to blow up this entire building and the neighbouring residences? All I have to do is light this match, and you'll be blown sky-high."

"All you pyromaniacs sound the same. So, what's it to be? I could shoot you before you could ignite the gunpowder. It's as simple as that, gramps." Courfeyrac said.

"You idiot! I was handling this just fine before you moseyed in and spoiled it." Eponine hissed at him. 'The Bombardier' looked at her as he got the third surprise of the evening. The sensation was starting to get dull.

"So you are involved with these men ... bounty hunters, I suppose. No matter. You won't survive this night to get any money. We'll all go down in flames."

With a snarl, Courfeyrac launched himself at the old man and both went tumbling down the sloped floor of the cavern. Several barrels were knocked aside during their descent to the far wall. Eponine and Javert followed them, uncertain as to Courfeyrac's motive for attacking so suddenly. As they got closer, it looked as if Courfeyrac had bumped his head on the solid stone wall and his eyes were half-closed. The old man got back to his feet and produced a knife from his jacket pocket.

"The game's up." he said menacingly, and slashed at Eponine. She jumped back and raised her hands in a defensive stance. 'The Bombardier' then lunged at Javert's hands, and this caused his twin pistols to clatter to the ground. The old man came at them both, his knife against their bare fists. The blade touched them both at certain times and blood floated around them as they fought frantically. It was a dream come true when suddenly 'The Bombardier' fell onto his front, Courfeyrac wrapped around his ankles. The two men started to roll around again, towards the back wall. When they reached it, a secret door opened and swallowed them. It happened in an instant, and Eponine and Javert had only to blink to miss it.

"Where did they go?" Eponine said, rubbing her bruised knuckles. "That was so strange ..."

"I feel drowsy." Javert said, feeling his forehead for signs of a temperature. He was surprising cold. He had numerous injuries to his arms and head. The arm which he had nearly lost a while before was numb and the old wound had split open again. 'The Bombardier' had used his free hand to punch him repeatedly, yet Javert barely remembered this. It had all been so fast. Eponine did not profess to be a good nurse, but she at least had the care of one. She had a soft feel to her fingers as they brushed Javert's skin, and he took great comfort from this. In a motherly sense.

"I must thank you for your concern. Are you all right?" he said to her. She laughed quietly while using a part of her skirt to blot the blood that was flowing from his wounds.

"I should be thanking you, really. Yeah, I'll live I suppose. But it's nice to know someone is looking out for you, you know? I'm not so lonesome as I was back then, now that you're around. How do you feel?"

"I think that we have a mutual feeling. I lived on my own for all of my adult life up until now, and you were my first ... companion. I have even come to consider you as my first ... friend. It is difficult for me to - ouch - say that." Javert chuckled, looking up at the ceiling, "We are indeed an odd couple of individuals, aren't we? We are not typically supposed to be friends. There is an immense age-gap between us, did you ever realise that? You are so young."

"I'm sixteen. I'm practically an adult." Eponine said in her defense, and then looked at him with a mysterious intensity.

"What is it?" he asked her, "Are you inquiring after the implications of my comments? Of course you are. You constantly ask me silent questions with your eyes. But I can never answer them. You see, Eponine, there are many things I would like to do right now, but none of them are appropriate. None of them are very immoral either, but something holds me back. My friend, just promise me you will stay by my side. When I am gone, you will be old enough to live your life to the fullest. I will not hold you back when you are ready."

"This isn't right. Don't talk about this sort of thing. It's strange."

"I have always had a secret belief in soul-mates."

"Seriously, stop it."

"I apologise."

"Right, now, where did Courfeyrac go?" Eponine asked, picking up Javert's pistols for him.

"Through the wall, I believe. We had better help him. If only that blasted woman had joined us here rather than selfishly stayed at the ball." Javert said, frowning at the thought of Fantine. Eponine ran her hands along the length of the wall to determine the area that moved. Something clicked when she applied pressure to a certain part of it, and a narrow entryway appeared in front of her. From beyond this opening she could hear sounds of a scuffle, which meant that the men were still fighting.

"We're coming, Cour-Cour!" she shouted, and bolted through the wall. Javert, still panting from the previous fight, dived through before it closed up. He was aware of powder on the floor, and black clouds rose up around his feet as he jogged. This obviously meant that 'The Bombardier' had created a trail of gunpowder and could set it all off from anywhere in these tunnels. Eponine was miles ahead, her rapid footsteps becoming increasingly distant even as he went as fast as he could. He was light-headed and the searing pain from his arm was almost unbearable. Gradually the tunnel became lighter and he came upon the others in a fierce battle on the ground. Eponine seemed to be biting at 'The Bombardier's' ankles while Courfeyrac grappled with his torso. Javert stood there feeling quite inadequate. He could only watch as the old man managed to get to his feet and raise a match above his head.

"I'll light it!" he screamed, but then saw something behind Javert that made the match slip from his fingers. "Oh my Lord ..."

To be continued ...

* * *

Afterthought: Have you worked out what the title 'The Stars And Moon Are Always Together At Night' means yet? Well, this chapter wasn't as Eponine/Javert-ish as I'd originally intended, but I quite like it this way. Subtlety is a magical thing, kids. '


	18. My Funny Fantine

The Bounty Hunters Of Paris

Part Eighteen - My Funny Fantine

Note : It's BAAAAAAAAAACCCCK ... for it's, err, 100th Season or so. I went to see an amateur production of Les Mis and it somewhat revived my interest in it. And this is the product of that. More of this never-ending fic.

* * *

Fantine was standing before them with a broom. The bristles were caked in black powder and what was left on the floor was dissapated in such a way that an explosion would not happen should it be lit. 'The Bombardier' was gurgling at the sight. 

"I think you made a mess." she said simply. "I cleaned it up for you."

Javert could barely suppress a smile as she said this. So she could be relied upon after all. Besides, she was not a bad dancer and had impressed him earlier. Eponine raised her gun to 'The Bombardier's' head, her grip firm.

"So, Ollie, are you going to come quietly?" she said. At this point she was bitterly unhappy. Once again she was having to betray an old ally in the worst way possible; she was going to hand him over to the law, which broke all the codes that had been drilled into her during her life in Paris. She was eager to finish the job quickly and go home to bang her head against the wall in repentance.

"You're foolish, girl." the old man said, looking side-long at her, "What would your father say if he knew you were in league with bounty hunters? You've gone from one scummy clique to another scummy clique. Are you satisfied living like this? When exactly are you going to pay for your crimes, eh? Life's little ironies catch up with everyone eventually, and don't you forget it. You can't run from the law forever."

"No she certainly cannot, I represent ... ed the law." Javert piped up. 'The Bombardier' snorted and eyed Eponine's gun.

"Would you really kill me if I moved? You wouldn't get your bounty."

Eponine felt her arm go limp. How could she answer that without sounding like the biggest idiot in the entire cave?

"Errr..." she said. As she did so, the old man changed his expression from triumph to surprise. Then he merely fell on top of her with a resounding groan. Fantine had hit him on the back of the head with her broom, and a cloud of black dust showered over them all.

"You guys spend too much time talking to these losers. Just hit them on the head and have done with them." she said, trying to avoid the powder in the air.

"That's because it's never personal with you! This _meant_ something to Swifty!" Courfeyrac shouted at her.

"Well, now it doesn't. Case closed." Fantine said, and pulled the old man's unconscious body off Eponine.

* * *

Up in one of the private rooms of the grand residence, the students had found themselves in a compromising situation. While their 'dates' were pouring them more wine, Grantaire leaned in towards Bahorel. 

"What did Enjolras tell us hick to do again?" he asked.

"We have to threaten them and make them show us important documents." Bahorel said, twiddling his thumbs. He was getting very nervous, and Lesgle's composure was making him feel worse.

"Are you not a bit ... scared, Lesgle?"

"No." replied his friend, who was eyeing their targets with a hand on his leg, "I have my knife at the ready. I'll get them when all three of their backs are turned. Follow my lead."

He rose and arched his back, his knife at the ready. Bahorel felt himself beginning to sweat, and used his dress to wipe his forehead before standing up as well. In contrast, Grantaire toppled over from his seat and fell face-first onto the floor.

"Ah, my, Mademoiselle, are you feeling quite all right?" the Mayor cried as he heard the thud. The men turned around, and Lesgle instantly whipped the knife behind his back.

"Yes, he's, I mean, she's fine. Just needs some air, it is rather warm in here, Monsieurs." Bahorel said, pulling Grantaire towards the door by his arm. The Mayor and the Domestic Secretary seemed very concerned, and moved to follow them. Lesgle nodded, and smiled a rather manly smile at Gisquet. Once they were alone, the old man handed Lesgle a full glass of claret.

"Does the lady drink, hmmm? Is she a naughty girl, eh?" he asked, with a twinkle in his faded grey eyes.

"Huh?"

"You are too charming my dear. Care for a bonbon?"

Lesgle looked at the sweets in disdain, and waved them away.

"No thanks, I'm on a diet." he said, rolling his eyes. Gisquet edged closer to him subtley.

"It is rather hot in here, is it not, mademoiselle?" he said in a low tone. A cool breeze from the window lifted the curls of Lesgle's blonde wig, causing him to raise an eyebrow. He was considering simply sticking the blade into the old man simply to stop him from flirting so badly. What sane man could not see through his lousy disguise?

"Come and join me here, my love."

"HAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGHHHHHH!!!" Lesgle screeched, and leapt onto Gisquet's frail back. The old man writhed around underneath the impressive weight of 'Lesgla'.

"Oh my, you could have said if you had wanted to get onto those kinds of things straight away ... you don't waste time, do you?" Gisquet said, both in ecstasy and pain. Lesgle thought it best not think about the meaning behind that, and held the knife at Gisquet's neck.

"Listen, you had better quit your position and make your friends resign too if you don't want to be as dead as that swan on the buffet downstairs!" he growled, his face screwed up menacingly. It was at this point that the old man did not find his lady friend quite so attractive.

"Well, that would be rather difficult -"

"Grrr."

"Fine, I will ... do it."

"And I shall give you the name of the person who will take over the posts."

"Oh god, you'd better not be working for Inspector Juicy."

"Eh? Anyway, I'm glad we worked this out." Lesgle said, and for good measure gave the old man a blow to the head with the blade handle. Bahorel burst in, panting.

"Oh good, we've knocked ours out too. What have you found out?" he asked, hanging onto the door handle. Grantaire appeared at his feet, gurgling.

"I don't know anything. But I have secured three top jobs for our Brothers. Surely Enjolras will be happy with that and not pick on me to do his dirty work anymore." Lesgle sighed, dragging Gisquet away from the window. He still had some dirty work to do, and that was to make sure that the Prefect of Police stuck to his word. Judging by what had just happened, actions spoke louder than words with him.

* * *

The next day, after the bounty hunters had recieved payment for 'The Bombardier', Eponine sat in her attic room before an open cupboard. The interior of it looked like a crude stage made for puppets. She was using three dolls to act out a fantasy, a dream which had followed her all these days. She wanted to cheer herself up after the past couple of bounty incidents. 

"Oh Marius, we shall be so happy together now that I have you under my spell ..." said one of the female dolls.

"What was that, dear?" said the male.

"Oh nothing, darling. Ha ha, he doesn't know that he will never be able to escape my evil clutches!" the female said in a horrifically squeaky voice. The third doll, another female, appeared beside her.

"Ah ha, I know of your dia - dia - diabolilogicalical schemes, Baroness Pontmercy!" it exclaimed.

"Oh no, it is you, I am doomed!" said the first doll. The females rammed themselves into each other until the 'Baroness' fell.

"Thank you! I am no longer under her control. I now realise that I have always loved you!" the male said to the victor. They rammed their faces together in a dolly kiss.

"Eponine!" Javert said from the attic entrance. Eponine slammed the cupboard shut in an instant.

"Yes?"

Javert entered, his hand firmly on the door-handle.

"We are going to look for more bounties now. Would you be so kind as to join us in the kitchen?" he said with perhaps a small amount of animousity. He did not like her seclusion. His own seclusion was fine, of course. Other peoples' seclusion was wrong. They could be getting up to anything, anything besides Bible-reading of course, which was what he did.

"Fine, I'll be down in a minute." Eponine said, giving a nod as confirmation.

As he closed the door, Javert heard Eponine re-opening the cupboard. Contrary to many things he believed in, he stayed behind the door and listened for more sounds.

"Where were we ..." he heard her mutter, then switch to a deeper voice "Yes, eh-hem, Eponine, I love you more than books and revolutions!"

Javert heard crickets chirping because of his complete and utter incomprehension. What was she doing?

"You will always love me, Marius? Oh, say you'll take me in your arms and ... do lovely things to me!" said the surviving girl doll. The male doll replied in no time at all.

"Oh yes, sweetest Eponine, yes! There, there, yes there, that's gooooooooood ..."

Meanwhile, downstairs in the kitchen, Courfeyrac and Fantine heard a very loud and distinct bang from above.

"What was that?" Fantine said, looking up at the ceiling.

"Sounded like a nose-bleed. I'll get the mop." Courfeyrac said. Fantine frowned.

"A huge nose-bleed ... the type that takes you by surprise and catapults you into the stratasphere. Very messy. Me and my friends used to get them all the time. Especially when my drunk friend made odd comments." Courfeyrac explained, mop now in hand. They went to the stairway and saw Javert lying at the top, his limbs crumpled and his face twitching. Courfeyrac sighed at the sight of the trail of blood that led from the attic to the heap that was his comrade. Eponine was standing at her doorway, with a half-embarrassed smile on her face. She was holding two sticks with random pieces of material stuck to them; her puppets.

"Oh my Lordy, I never want to be disturbed while playing my 'game' again." she said quietly before approaching Javert. He looked at her with half-closed eyes and made a croaky sound from the back of his throat. Eponine grinned and waved the puppets in his face.

"That'll teach you to spy on people's private time! I just loved watching you fly. That was one hell of a nose-bleed. I wish I could make my Dad do that ..."

Fantine curled her lips in revulsion as she surveyed the scene.

"So he saw you doing something and had such a violent nose-bleed as a result that he was thrown backwards? What on earth where you _doing_?" she asked. Courfeyrac circled them with the mop, humming as he went.

"I was only playing with my dollies. I knew he was listening at my door so I decided to punish him for being a pervert." Eponine said, folding her arms defensively.

"_I_ was being a pervert?!" Javert screamed all of a sudden. He had miraculously recovered from his experience and was nearly on his feet (this was probably in order to defend his honour). Fantine and Courfeyrac thought it best to leave the brewing argument at this early stage and retreated back to the kitchen.

"Spying! That's all you ever seem to do! I've heard things about you, I have." Eponine shouted from upstairs. They could hear them all the same. Not even the basement would be sound-proof.

"You hear things do you? From your deliquant crew of low-lifes no doubt. Of course, they would have to talk to you because they would not be able to write!"

"What's that about my informants? You probably can't write yourself, you failure as a cop."

"At least I had a job! At least I do things!"

"I do things!"

"No you do not! You sit there like a complete slob! Slouched with your spinal column ready to collapse from the pressure of being bent at such an angle! It may be comfortable now, but when you are my age you will be sorry!" Javert screamed at Eponine. He somehow seemed angrier than he should have actually been. Eponine, who had had much experience with verbal abuse in the past few years, was ready with more retaliations.

"You can't say that to me. You're not my father. What are you to me? Really? Blood-wise, I owe nothing to you. Less even than my pitiful excuse for a family, whom I never asked to be put in this god-forsaken existance in the first place. Besides, since when is my posture of your personal concern, hmm? It's not your problem!"

Fantine tried to shut her ears to the din and browsed through the bounty section in the newspaper. Her gaze fell on a familiar face smiling at her with his inky mouth, his inky hair perfect and his inky eyes twinkling as they used to.

"Oh my god ... it's happened to me. I recognise someone here." she breathed, and looked closer at the text beside the picture.

"'Gun-Slinger', a criminal who is often armed with a pistol of an unknown manufacturer, is wanted for assisting in numerous heists in buildings of political and economical importance ... He has no police records, so other information about him is limited. Be wary of his skills concerning his gun." she said, brushing her hand over the page. Courfeyrac peered at the newspaper over her shoulder.

"So you know that guy? Where from?" he asked.

"From ... a long long time ago. When I was young and he was all that I had in the world. But ... that's not what's important."

"Is this one of those missions that you have to do alone to confront issues from your past?"

"I suppose so ... oh dear, Tholomyès ..."

* * *

After packing far too many possessions into far too many bags, Fantine emerged from her room and confronted her comrades. Javert was behind her, doing an impressive balancing act with all her luggage. 

"Well, I shall return soon. And I promise to add to our funds with the bounty money ... I promise." Fantine said, biting at her lower lip.

"Good luck Trigger." Courfeyrac nodded, giving her a polite peck on the cheek. "And to you too, Psycho!"

"I am not going anywhere with this woman." Javert muttered from behind a handbag. Eponine looked up at Fantine with shining eyes. She made to say something, but tears consumed her and took over. She ran from them, flinging herself down the stairs to the basement.

"She must like me so much." Fantine mused, unaffected by the stunt of the young woman, and brushed past Courfeyrac towards the front door. Javert shuffled after her, and helped to load her things onto the awaiting fiacre. He and Courfeyrac watched it leave from the garden, and when the fiacre was out of sight, they felt oddly deflated.

"I thought we'd jump for joy at this moment, but I actually feel quite down." Courfeyrac admitted. Javert nodded in solomn agreement. It wasn't as if they were obliged to stay as a four-some - Eponine had left not too long ago, and Fantine was always coming and going whenever she felt like it. But it would seem that they were becoming increasingly closer-knit that they knew. Yes, it'd be strange with only three of them in the house.

The two men went to console Eponine, who was sitting glumly on Courfeyrac's sofa/bed with a runny nose.

"Sis has gone ..." she said as the ex-student sat beside her.

"Since when did you start calling her sis??" Courfeyrac spluttered. It was then, as he finally relented and pulled her into a brotherly hug, that the harsh doorbell rang. It was hard to imagine Javert having a nice little jingle; the ear-splittingly horrible sound he had employed was far more suited to his persona. As it was his front door, he resolved to go answer it.

"Calm yourself down." he barked at Eponine, and trudged up the stairs. Un was whining and trying to eat part of the door, which annoyed him further.

"If you were bigger I'd punish you far more than I usually do!" he cried at the animal, which gazed up at him with inquiring black eyes. With a sharp exhale of breath, Javert opened the door, only for his shoulders to sink.

"I forgot my hairbrush!" Fantine told him, her eyes wild with worry. She swept past and practically leapt up the stairs to her bedroom. When she returned to the hallway, Javert was still in the exact same position at the door.

"You are a dear. Thank you." she cooed, and hurried back to the fiacre. With an expression that could scare away thunder clouds, he closed the portal and hoped he would never be disturbed again for such a pointless reason. Within a second of shutting the door, the bell screeched again.

"..."

Three figures, their features covered in white sheets, stood before him in a row. Javert wondered if they were lost Halloween trick-or-treaters (bad ones, at that) who had been cursed and doomed to walk the streets forever begging people for candy. When he asked them if this was indeed the case, one of them coughed.

"Uh, no. We're the IAA, and we are conducting a very important survey. May we come in?"

IAA ... sounded official. Javert was a fool when it came to initials. Anything else and he would have given the strangers a suspicious frown and a barrage of questions. But initials, well ... in that case, they must be genuine. There was one question, however, that he simply had to ask.

"Why the sheets?"

As it is now obvious to a reader who has been paying attention (or who is good at guessing), these three people were Courfeyrac's former friends. Combeferre, Jean Provaire and Lesgle to be precise. The funny thing was, they were not here because of the characters presently inside Javert's house - it was a coincidence. Honest.

"We used to wear black ones, but we eventually decided that white looked more friendly." Jean Provaire said. "My Brothers told me we had to hide our real identities in order to protect secrets of the occult that could shock the entire world."

"What my Brother meant was that we do not consider ourselves important enough as individuals to be waving our faces about in public." Combeferre explained quickly to conceal the true meaning of Prouvaire's words. "So can we come in?"

* * *

Of course, it would have to happen at night-time. At about twenty past midnight, and a place were the subtle wind would rustle one's hair dramatically. In the dead centre of one of Paris's famed bridges. The one where Javert had taken his life some time ago. That'd do. This is where Fantine faced her lover, the father of Cosette and the man who had broken so many hearts. Gun-slinger versus Trigger. 

"How come I feel like I've been abducted by aliens?" Fantine asked Tholomyès, standing opposite the ruggedly handsome man. He had barely changed physically from the days that they had shared together.

"I'm told that everyone feels that way at one time or another." he said nonchalently, and extended a hand. "How come I feel ... what is it ... guilt?"

Fantine spat onto the ground. How dare he say that! Did he want to make a fool out of her again?

"I don't care." she said, raising her head. The moonlight clung to her cheeks, her eye sockets becoming pools of darkness as a result. This was becoming one of those cowboy stand-offs. Instead of the heat of the sun bearing down on them, the moon turned away a little and radiated silvery concern.

"The least you owe me is money. Cold, hard cash. Either that, or the sight of your cold, stiff body. What I end up with is up to you." Fantine continued, wishing that she had a cigarette tucked into the side of her mouth. Now THAT would have looked cool. As it happened, all she could do is flourish her trusty pistol to enforce her words. Tholomyès hadn't been expecting her to come so prepared, and whipped out his own weapon. It was slightly bigger than Fantine's and probably a lot heavier. The tarnished metal was dull and barely visible, but she knew it was there. And the end of the barrel was pointed at her throat.

"You're going to have trouble doing either." Tholomyès said.

* * *

Eponine : Next time in The Bounty Hunters Of Paris! What do the mysterious IAA have in store for the intrepid heroes? 

Javert : And what are they doing in my house?

Courfeyrac : You let them in.

Eponine : Also, find out the conclusion of Fantine's emotional reunion with Tholomyès. He's kind of cute!

Courfeyrac : Why are you so chirpy all of a sudden?? You were crying a couple of scenes ago! And where was that fanservice that Trigger promised everyone??

Eponine : See you next time! -wink-

Javert : Eyah.


	19. Love You Too

The Bounty Hunters Of Paris

Part Nineteen - ... Love You Too

Oh my god, who is this person?? What is this fanfic?? It's the insanely long-running Bounty Hunters of Paris, which everyone probably hoped had disappeared for good. Here's the annoying nineteenth chapter, long overdue.

* * *

Javert stared, unnerved, at the three cloaked men who were perched in a row on the sofa opposite him. He was feeling agitated by their mere presence. If he had been an Inspector still, he would have been able to face them with confidence and stern words; but he was now an, let's face it, unemployed middle-aged mother of three unruly children. These types of people have their own kind of inner strength, but when faced with Halloween ghosts when it's not Halloween would make anyone nervous. 

"So ... what kind of charity are you?" he asked, offering them tea from a tray on the table between him and his guests. Combeferre immediately picked up on this thread.

"Ah, yes. Well, for a mere ten francs a month, we will send food parcels to the poor, deprived people of -"

"What?" Jean Provaire, who was disgustingly honest for a poet, asked him. "I thought we -"

"We deliver other basic necessities as well, to -" Combeferre tried to continue with his explanation.

"Why don't we just tell the truth?" said Lesgle bluntly. Since being dressed as woman, he easily grew tired of procrastination and deceit, as well as corsets. He had worked damn hard to carry out the devious drag-queen plan, and he was planning on reaping the benefits.

"You know a man called Gisquet, right?" he asked Javert, whose attention snapped straight to him. "In fact, you used to work for him. He didn't treat you with much respect, did he? Maybe he thought you were only worth keeping around to poke fun at. Anyway, the point is ... hello?" He waved a hand in front of Javert's blank face. The ex-policeman was in fact not listening - he was instead wondering where he had seen this young man before ... perhaps with more make-up on and frills. His steely eyes slowly began to focus back upon the shiny head of Lesgle.

"Gisquet?" he said.

"He quit his position. Quite suddenly. Who would have thought it?" Combeferre said quickly before Lesgle could complicate matters further.

"Are you sure he did not just retire?" Javert was certain the elderly Prefect should have retired many many years ago. Probably around the time when Jean Valjean was intially in prison. It was then that Courfeyrac entered the room with a giggling Eponine straddling his back. She fell to the floor with a wince-inducing thud shortly afterwards.

"Cour ..." Jean Provaire breathed. Why he and his two comrades were so shocked to see a dead man standing in the doorway was a mystery, or perhaps just irony.

"..." Courfeyrac side-stepped over to Javert's armchair and leaned down.

"And they are here WHY?"

"They are simply some men in cloaks. What was I supposed to do?"

"Did you not think to ask them if they were from some sort of weird cult?" Courfeyrac hissed.

"N-no ... their organisation has initials, so I thought ..." Javert whimpered, his weakness for initials now exposed.

"What kind of excuse is that??" Courfeyrac cried out, his teeth bared. They all had their stupid moments, but Courfeyrac really had to nominate this one for an award. The three members of the IAA exchanged blank glances. They had immediately recognised him, but could not risk saying anything. They thanked God for the cloaks which hid a few of their features. Combeferre's glasses shone out from under the hood of his cloak (he was taking no chances), Jean Provaire had donned a matching white hat which obscured his hair and shadowed his eyes, and Lesgle had pulled up the collar of the cloak to cover his lower face. Despite such precautions, Jean Provaire felt entirely exposed, and was quite certain that Courfeyrac would recognise at least him, if not all three of them.

"Are you all crazy??" he suddenly cried out, leaping to his feet. The hat tumbled off his head, his cloak fluttered to the ground, and there he was, fully exposed in his ink-splattered waistcoat and trousers.

"We were fighting for the same cause! I am Jean Provaire, this is Glasses, this is Baldy!"

"HEY! Who said you could give us nicknames like that??" Lesgle roared, and also stood up and shed his flimsy disguise.

"And you are Courfeyrac, our dear brother and friend! The one who kept us all calm, who made us laugh when you joked about women with large rears and men with big ears ..." Jean Provaire continued, tears shining in his eyes. Javert nearly fell out of his chair.

"I am a very funny man ..." Courfeyrac nodded happily, whole-heartedly agreeing with the 'compliment'.

"How come you're with old Cop-Features here, Courfeyrac?" Lesgle asked, now joining in with giving nicknames rather than opposing the practice, and pointed at Javert with a jabbing motion.

"Hey hey, let's not get others involved." Courfeyrac waved his hands in mild protest. Jean Provaire felt courageous inspiration swelling up inside of him.

"He got involved when he infiltrated our glorious battle! He even decided to live longer than the rest of us, despite getting a death sentence from Enjolras."

"Aren't we all alive now, though ...?" Lesgle said, scratching his head. Their comrade, Combeferre, who had been very quiet for a little while, pushed his glasses up his nose and tried to sink into the sofa, to become part of the fibres and the unidentifiable crumbs that clung to the upholstery (left by Eponine after she had raided the forbidden biscuit barrel in the kitchen). How was he ever going to report this mess to the others ... would he have to suffer Enjolras's vile temper again so soon? Would he have to ... be subjected to the same punishment ... of Grantaire's Gin-infused breath until he passes out? He wished he could simply melt away and be forgotten forever.

"Listen! I'm content with being here. I can still come visit you guys, anytime. But I have a job now, and -" Courfeyrac started, trying to explain his current situation.

"We have a job too! It's called 'do what we were doing before, only with more espionage and less heroism'." cut-in Jean Provaire. Something clicked in Javert's mind. These strange young fellows certainly liked to dress up, and to come up with insane, ludicrous plans to achieve their goals. He had heard that on the night of the ball, when they had captured 'The Bombardier', some of the most important attendants went missing. And he had indeed seen Gisquet there, briefly, dancing with an undeniably manly partner. But it was not any of the three present in his house at that moment, so he could not be entirely sure. However ...

"Tell me ... what is the name of the new Prefect of Police?" he said, leaning forward in his chair. Lesgle and Jean Provaire exchanged uneasy glances before replying.

"Ba ... horel."

* * *

Would you have thought firing a shot at an ex-lover was a suitable greeting for them? A lot of people would probably have thought this was a very good idea, and Tholomyès was no exception. It was a warning shot which left a small smoking crater by Fantine's foot. She hitched up her skirt with her free hand and prepared to dodge any other bullets aimed her way. 

"You're lacking in chivalry as ever." she commented. Tholomyès took a moment to listen to her voice and her words. The words were different, but the voice ... he remembered it when it knew little of the horrors of the world. She would whisper sweetly into his ear in the mornings, and, blushing, would proclaim her undying love. Now she purred snide remarks to him through the darkness.

Just as such observations dissapated, Tholomyès was aware that Fantine was no longer in his eyeline. He swung his weapon around sharply, catching the barrel of her pistol and knocking it away. It had been aiming at the back of his head.

"I would never have put you down as a fighter ... especially not one this good." he said honestly, getting a close look at her. The hair which he had once known to be long and seductively wavy had been shorn at some point, and had grown out in an odd, straight style (known as a long bob to modern folk). She was wearing more in the way of make-up than she used to - she had hardships to hide which had taken their toll on her face. Her beautiful eyes stared at him knowingly; she knew that she was not the naive girl he had embraced so long ago.

"You only have yourself to blame." she said, holding her gun in both hands. "This is all your doing." This seemed to spark something in Tholomyès, who growled and squeezed the trigger of his weapon several times. Luckily it was a bit random, and Fantine managed to escape to safety with a grazed sleeve. She was now on one side of the bridge, where the water gushed hungrily below. Her wrist was bleeding a little from where the bullet had brushed past her arm, but she did not have time to tend to it. Tholomyès only had two more bullets and they both knew it. Fantine was willing to bet he'd waste them both.

"Tell me." the man said, clearing his throat and observing his smoking weapon whilst edging closer to his opponent, "How did you retain your good looks, hm? Some kind of witchcraft?"

Fantine, breathing a little more heavily than she would have liked, actually took a moment to observe Tholomyès's face. The streetlamps which framed the river either side gave the bridge an ethereal glow, which revealed deep lines on his forehead. It probably made them look worse than they actually were, yet Fantine was given the impression that he was an old man - and she had once been infatuated with him?? Scary.

"I don't give any secrets away these days." she spat, and eyed him with sharp caution. She kind of hoped he would trip up on the uneven stones of the bridge - sure it'd be an unfair win, but it would make things easier. She could practically smell the Francs coming her way now. Well, she would have, had the overpowering stench of the Seine not been in the way.

"I heard you had a child." Tholomyès said, lurching towards her. Maybe now the whole situation was getting to him in a personal way.

"No thanks to you." Fantine muttered between shallow breaths, but then raised her voice over the loud current of the Seine. "That was many years ago."

They clashed, their gun barrels locked together like rapiers. Usually she would have been no match for him, but time had diminished his physical strength and she still had a youthful body (that was now well-nourished thanks to Javert's home cooking). The two struggled for a few moments as they thought about their next action. Unexpectedly, Tholomyès lowered his weapon and hung his head, possibly shamefully. But Fantine doubted that.

"Who would have known ...?" he said, subdued. "My precious one, trying to kill me now."

"Oh no, not kill." Fantine insisted as she kept an eye on his limply-held gun, "Just brutally maiming would suffice."

Tholomyès turned his head towards her, trying his best to look like a lost child and being very much betrayed by the silver streaks in his hair. Deep down he had always known he had left her with little explanation, probably sentencing her to starve and die in the poverty that was so rampant even today (not TODAY, that day). But he also could not allow himself to let her have the satisfaction of exacting revenge. Surely somewhere past those cold blue eyes of hers, the vulnerable girl he had seduced once was cowering and waiting for her prince to return?

"Fantine ... we could always forget these past fifteen years ... or so. It's not as if you have aged. You have actually grown in beauty, if that was possible. If I could just ..." He reached out a hand as if to cup her cheek. For a brief moment, Fantine was willing to feel the warmth of someone again. But the cold metal in her hand told her otherwise. There was a sudden, resounding crack that hung in the air over the bridge. A lingering owl, who had been very engaged in tracking a rat that was similarly engaged in keeping its distance from the quarreling humans, swooped to claim its prize.

With a groan, Tholomyès slumped down to the ground. Fantine did not smile, nor make any immediate moves. Gun-Slinger was now in her possession, and she tried to see it in that way. But she couldn't. There were too many emotions at stake. She probably began to cry, but she wouldn't tell anyone. She dragged him unceremoniously to the nearest Police Box, but she wouldn't tell them who she was when she got there. It was all done in a hush-hush, anonymous way. Just how she liked to play it these days.

* * *

"Fantine!" Eponine bounced up to the older woman as she opened the front door of Javert's house. "Have you got any money? I want some sweets." 

"..." Fantine did not answer the question, and hug up her coat on the bannister. "What is all the noise in there?" she then asked, her voice weary. There were smashing and grunting sounds coming from beyond the door of the living room. Eponine blinked.

"Oh, we had some visitors, so Cour-Cour and Javert are just showing them out."

"... isn't the front door here?"

"They're throwing them out of the window."

Fantine ran the words over in her mind a few times, and sighed as she began to ascend the stairs. It was an odd evening all round, or so it seemed.

* * *

On a doorstep, of a pretty yet modest house, sat a bag filled to the brim with money. A young woman twittered about in the garden, trying to catch moths and admiring the twinkling stars above. When a man's voice called for her to come inside, she found the backdoor had stuck and would not open, as hard as her under-used arm muscles tried. She skipped around the side of the building until she came to the front door, and nearly tripped over the solitary bag which was waiting for her claim its contents. A note was tied to the top of it, and the young woman thought she was going mad when she read what it said. 

_To dear Cosette,_

_From your loving parents._


	20. In Which Everyone Stalks Someone Else

The Bounty Hunters Of Paris

Part Twenty - In Which Everyone Stalks Someone Else

Thank you to everyone who has reviewed this fic. Seriously. It makes me realise that people are still reading this! And so, it makes me carry on faster. Ish. XD I've actually been going through and correcting things/improving the layout, which is extremely time-consuming. So blame my slowness on that and Uni work. Heeheehee.

Oh ... just have to mention. Gintama was the inspiration for this chapter.

Bramblefox - thank you for your awesome review.

* * *

Marius Pontmercy was unusually subdued for someone so in love. He did not flinch as he scuffed the pavement with his unpolished shoes, or as bedraggled flower girls shoved wilting posies in his face. He had an appointment with the Mayor of Paris, as was customary for men of his social position, but in this zombified state he did not care much if he was early or late. It had taken all of his energy to even step out of the house. His strange butler, Eneric, had practically pushed his master outside.

Now Marius was standing outside the Mayor's office, his eyes glazed over. He did not even notice that the usual golden plaque bearing the Mayor's name was missing, or that there was a mystery stain on the carpet in front of the door. An official-looking person swaggered past, curling his lip.

"The new Mayor isn't anything special ... didn't even get elected ..." he huffed, and hurried away. Marius barely registered this tip-off as he collected his thoughts, suddenly determined to make a good impression. He entered the office, shuffled towards the centre of the room, and settled down into the guest chair.

"..." he said. Someone extrememly familiar was where the Mayor should have been, grinning ear-to-ear. Somehow, Marius's senses returned to him in that moment. He sat with a fixed smile on his face; it was something he automatically did when he was uncertain of the situation he was in. His old friend and comrade was slumped behind the enormous oak desk with a gold chain around his neck and a bottle of whiskey in his hand.

"Grantaire?" Marius asked politely. Grantaire promptly belched and tried to hold in his half-digested breakfast as it made a bid for freedom.

"Yer looking at the new Mayor of Paris!"

"Mayor?"

"I run the show now! Except ... Enjolras actually does. Surprissssse." Grantaire slurred, extending his arms in a congratulatory manner.

"I am surprised, to say the least ..."

"You should be! I was too."

The two men then experienced an inevitable silence. Marius would have liked to have admitted that more bizarre things had happened in the past, but he had to draw a blank. Apart from the students, Eponine and a few other people being resurrected of course. That was a little odd, and even he knew that.

"Enjolras told me about your ... what's it ... 'break'. You broke, and so your lady wife had to go out and buy some glue." the drunkard said finally.

"No no ... we decided to have a break." Marius smiled harder, to make it seem less serious. "Being married to the woman of my dreams is more difficult than I could have ever imagined." He lowered his head, letting his lips part with things he never thought he'd be able to say outloud. "We are so young, we've never felt this way ... everyday I'd wake up and not know what to say to her, because her face was bathed in the sunlight that filtered through our window and was too radiant for my pathetic words to compete with. I cannot ask about her childhood, she refuses to ask me about mine. All she wants to do is read and visit her father, who I was sure had passed away not all that long ago ..." he said, and frowned.

"Isn't she living with him now?" Grantaire asked, a question which Enjolras had instructed him to ask should he bring up the subject of Jean Valjean.

"Why yes, I believe so. She always seemed so much more ... alive when she was with him." Marius sighed.

"Then do something for yourself. Like ... I don't know ... secretly infiltrate their house and find out what it is she truly wants -"

"You're right, Mayor Grantaire!" The young man bolted from his seat, as if he had sat on a pin. "I shall go this very evening! May you be blessed, for tomorrow shall be a more joyous day!" Marius made for the exit, now with a real reason to smile.

"... no really, I actually don't know." Grantaire said to his empty office, and looked sceptically at his whiskey bottle. "I'm sure I'm more sober with you around ..."

* * *

The cover of darkness was all that Marius would need. He dressed from head to toe in black, but took a brown overcoat to wear on the way to Valjean's house - he would discard it at the gate, and not look so suspicious as he walked the streets. As long as no one he knew interfered, his marriage would be saved before the night was over.

He crept over to the wall that surrounded the house, and was relieved to see that it was not as high as the one he used to attempt to scale back when he was initially courting Cosette. In all honesty, anyone could get over it with a decent amount of muscle in their legs and arms. Just as he had planned, he hid his coat in the shadows by the gate, and prepared to get into the garden. He would have spat on his hands and rubbed them together, but he had a reputation and social standing to consider these days. As quietly as possible, he climbed up and over the wall and landed softly on the pruned grass beyond.

'Right, now I have to concentrate. It is all for my darling Cosette after all! I owe it to the pain in my heart that I endured all that time, when we could not be together ... oh, I hope no one hears my beating heart! Or those leaves I just stepped on. How can she be more happy here than at our beautiful new residence? Maybe I should allow her father to stay with us, but he did seem intent on being on his own. I remember Cosette's tears as we heard the news of his death ... he did die didn't he?? Didn't he?? I'm certain he did.' he thought frantically, all the while trying to conceal his heavy, nervous breaths.

'Just a little further, and I can - wait, the ground here seems very disturbed. I swear that Cosette would not let a garden look like this, she's so very particular about it. But there's - why, there's a hole here!'

Marius stood at the edge of the pit, wet leaves scattered all around the perimeter. With some reservations, he peered down into the grey depths, and saw the outline of some large shape. What it was, he could not imagine. Until, of course, it started to speak. Not to him directly, but possibly in the hope that someone, somewhere, would be aware of the words.

"This is just like him, to pull a vagabond stunt such as this! If I had not been a polic - what I once was, with all my years of experience, I would have fallen and broken my neck for sure. Thankfully I landed on my ... well, I landed on something other than my neck. He is as good as a murderer, I tell you! As soon as I find a way out of this depressing place, I shall report it! The day that I see his face behind bars again will be the pinnacle of my lifetime. Ah, it's not here! My snuff box ..."

"..." Marius's mouth twitched in disbelief. Of all the places in all of Paris, the Inspector happened to be in a hole in front of him, possibly out to ruin his efforts. Granted, he was trapped, which bought Marius some time at least.

"Please be more quiet in your predicament, Inspector Javert." he whispered into the deep pit, and saw the shape of Javert move at the sound of his voice.

"You! If you help me out, I swear I shall compensate you for your trouble. We can share in the glory."

Marius stopped just as he was about to tip-toe nearer to the house.

"Glory? What on earth are you here for? To steal a pie from the window-sill? You'll give me a slice or two?"

"Me steal?? Me steal?? Come in here and accuse me of that!!" Javert roared, the earth which constituted the walls of the hole crumbling and quaking disconcertingly.

"I am ... going to leave you while you calm yourself." Marius said, and pressed his body against a nearby tree to conceal himself should anyone have heard the commotion.

"I'm calm, Monsieur Marius, just look at me being calm!" said a considerably different voice. It came from above, a fact which Marius knew could not possibly be true.

"I told you I was smart! All it took was a little thinking like 'if I were Monsieur Marius, where would I go?' Not that difficult! The Lark everytime. I saw her earlier, looking out of that high window, and how I wanted to throw a rock at her face! I would watch her pretty nose go SPLAT." Eponine laughed, although it all sounded a little strained. Marius turned his gaze upwards gradually; he knew what he was going to see, but didn't really want to see it. She was hanging upside-down from a rope, most of her features obscured by the darkness and foliage. Marius wondered just how many other kinds of traps were set up in the garden, and gulped.

"'Ponine, stop being silly and come down here." he called as quietly as he could. "I need you to help me -"

"Ah ha! So it's true. It's over between the two of you, it only leaves you and me, forever, and I won't have to play with those stupid puppets anymore because I'll have the real thing! Monsieur Marius? Can you help me down? I can't kiss you if you don't."

"I thought you said you were over him." Javert muttered from his hole.

"I will be over him, when I can." Eponine retorted, but then gave a shiver of recognition. "Whatcha doing here? You want to fight over him or something?"

"I do not care for the young man, not as you do. I came for an entirely different reason, but met a similar fate, or so it would seem."

"If I free you two, will you promise to behave?" Marius intervened, with a hint of hope, but a lot of despair.

The three figures finally stood together, like a group of conspiring ninjas.

"You said you were going out to buy some morsels for Un because we had run out." Javert said to Eponine, grandly folding his arms as if to gain some kind of moral high-ground.

"You said you were going out to find my brain." Eponine said blandly. A flash at an open window made all three of them turn their eyes to the house.

"24601?"

"Cosette?"

"Eh?"

A blanket of tension settled upon them as they began to truly consider each others' reasons for being there.

"You're still after that old man. He's an old man. You're a stalker." Eponine accused Javert.

"I am not a stalker! I am an explorer of justice. You are still lusting after this ... after Marius. You are a stalker."

"I am not!"

"You both are, really ..." Marius murmured, his uneasy smile returning to his lips.

"SO ARE YOU." the other two said forcefully. Then, in the same window as before, which was at groundfloor-level, a light began to flicker. Someone must have lit a candle or two, casting some illumination into the garden. Javert's foot was in clear view, the candlelight extending as far as his shiny boot.

"There's a crazy ghost man at the window!" Eponine squeaked, scrabbling for the comfort of Marius's arm.

"Oh, that's just Cosette's father." the young man smiled, even giving the old man a small polite wave.

"WHO." Javert said, widening his eyes in order to take in the features of this 'father'. "24601????!"

"What a strange name for someone." Marius proceeded to laugh as Javert prepared to give chase to his prey. "Apparantly he's called Jean Valjean. Which is another strange name!"

Eponine sneezed as they were left in a cloud of muddy dust. Because he had been involved in the majority of the chases throughout the adventures of the bounty hunters, Javert had become rather a rather accomplished sprinter for a man of his age. He surged forward, his head reared in fury, aiming for that open window. This must be his ultimate destiny! This must be it. He was absolutely certain.

SPLOOM.

"Oh my." Marius raised a hand to his mouth, almost reaching down with his free palm to cover Eponine's eyes. But she had taken a step towards the house, trying to control a giggle, and watched as Javert slid down the window and to the ground. The old man had shut the window at the last possible moment, showing a cunning instinct for comic timing. The ex-policeman, crumpled, looked up slowly with blood-shot eyes. Quite calmly, as if he just discovered his old adversary in that position, Jean Valjean slid the window open once more.

"Ah Inspector Javert, what a pleasant surprise. Would you mind moving? You're crushing my pansies."

"Y-you ..." Javert croaked, gripping onto the window ledge with shaking fingers.

"Would you care for some tea? I can offer some cake too if you're interested. Although, I have already eaten all the lemon slices ... my one culinary weakness."

Javert's lop-sided expression remained intact for a few moments, as Jean Valjean smiled aimiably at him. Perhaps this was the perfect chance. To finally bring the convict to justice, to fulfill his life's purpose, over a supper of tea and cake. Delicious.

* * *

It was quite the unexpected tea party. Jean Valjean, his cup and plate bare, nodded at his guests courteously as they took their seats with varying degrees of uncertainty. Cosette, her gaze averted from her husband, sat close to her adopted father. Marius kept moving his chair closer to her little by little, to no obvious avail, and next to him Eponine mirrored his movements while sticking her tongue out at the young lady. That left Javert with the chair next to Valjean, which made the situation all the more surreal.

"Isn't this nice?" Valjean said, passing the teapot to his enemy who handed it straight away to Eponine.

"Delightful!" Marius responded enthusiastically to the rhetorical comment.

"I hear that you've been fairly successful of late, Javert." Valjean continued, practically ignoring his eager son-in-law. "Successful with a strange girl, a foolish young fop and an attractive modern woman."

"All are accurate descriptions except the latter." Javert muttered, sneering at the image of Fantine's money-hungry eyes that appeared in his mind. Eponine, the teapot looking very over-sized in her small hands, messily poured a large amount of liquid into her cup. Streams of hot tea snaked along the tablecloth.

"I am glad that you finally saw sense and took on a more worthwhile career." said Valjean.

"And what it that supposed to imply?"

Valjean chuckled and shook his head. The Inspector had not changed at all, or so it seemed. He had lived for too long, and died too many times, to be afraid any longer. Besides, now that Javert was a free-lancer, it made things easier. He had no reason to be hauled away to prison.

"Let us all ... set our cards down on the table." he declared after a brief silence. "It would appear that we each have unsettled business. Beginning with dear Javert here."

"I am not dear Javert." dear Javert growled, but decided to play along with this game. "I am determined to see your sorry face behind bars, 24601. I thought I had to give it up, but I now realise that my spirit cannot rest until this is done. I will capture you."

"But I don't think he has a bounty on him ..." Eponine said, chewing her lip with one of her good teeth.

"Of course he does! The bounty is embedded in my soul, like a darkness that devours my sanity and my peace of mind! Clarity and purity will be my reward." Javert cried out, raising his eyes upwards. He was sure that he could see Heaven, but everyone else could only see a white-washed ceiling.

"Very good. And you, mademoiselle?" Valjean said, extending a hand towards Eponine. She was in the midst of tipping sugar into her tea, but had ended up with a concoction that was more sugar than tea.

"Me? I want to steal your cake and sugar." she shrugged, and then looked longingly at Marius. "And I want to ... have a certain guy notice me ..."

"Mere teenage hormones." the old man chuckled.

"Oh Cosette!" Marius said, clasping her delicate hands in his own as he sensed that it was his turn, "I want to patch things up between us! Would you like to go to the south for a while? To see the sea and the sun? Or some new jewellry? Tell me, I'll do anything!"

"M-Marius ..." Cosette blushed, unable to pull her hands from her husband's fervant grasp, "You are embarrassing me ..."

"This has been enlightening, but look at the time. My my." Valjean, disliking this display of sugary affection. "Might you all come back tomorrow?"

"And find that you have vanished and fled to England? Do you take me for a fool?" Javert growled, folding his arms and appearing to be immovable.

"Yeah, I don't think that's a good idea either." Eponine chimed in, her eyes flitting between the married couple and Valjean. "I think us three should just go and leave you two alone. For good. This tea isn't so good, after all. It's all grainy."

"Think about it, Javert." Valjean said calmly, stroking his grey beard. "The upper divisions of society are undergoing a vast amount of change at the moment. Surely you have noticed?"

Javert froze. Due to all the recent events, he had not had the chance to actually take notice of Paris's political climate.

"Why, uh, of course I have." he mumbled.

"The new police commissioner will not care about some ex-Inspector dragging in a poor, defenceless old man and insisting upon his immediate arrest and imprisonment for petty crimes he committed many years ago."

"..." Javert had to admit, but only in his most private thoughts, that Valjean had a point.

"You fail to see the bigger picture, 24601." he said, having to improvise mere milli-seconds before the words were spoken, "There is a reason why you and I are still amongst the living. What more could it be than for the fact that we have, if you pardon the cliche, unfinished business? Indeed, who has not got unfinished business?"

"That is exactly the question you should be asking yourself. Along with a few others. For instance, 'do I even remember why Jean Valjean went to prison in the first place'?"

"How about trying this for an answer: 'First-degree murder and debauchery'!" Javert bellowed, before lunging for his arch-nemesis and pulling him into a rigid head-lock.

"Father!" Cosette cried, pinching a tiny piece of Javert's coat and pulling with all her might. It did not make any difference.

"Come now, Inspector ..." Marius said, fanning his hands in a calming motion. He needn't have, as Valjean used one single hand to remove Javert's arm from around his throat and to push him away.

"Man-handling an old gentleman? I thought you had standards, Javert." he said in a genteel tone, brushing his coat off. Javert still had a layer of dusty mud covering his clothing from his earlier encounter with the hole in the ground.

"Right. So it would seem you will only go in an honourable fashion. Then I shall tell you this - my ex-colleagues from the police station will be swarming this property in mere minutes. Just wait here." Javert growled, storming towards the doorway. "Just wait ..."

After peeking around the door into the room a few times to make sure his 'prisoner' was not making any attempt to escape, he set off towards the garden gates with a purposeful stride. Somehow, he trusted Eponine to hold the fort, as such, until his return; luckily the nearest police post was only two streets away, and he doubted his nemesis was as nimble as he had once been. He was, however, still astonishingly strong for his age ... or should that be strong for his species?

"Javert! You may want to ..." Valjean began to call from the house.

"Enough of your excuses, 24601!" Javert growled in response.

"No no, really ..."

"Yes, really! Stop your pointless protestaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa ........"

Javert's voice disappeared along with a fading echo.

"Well, I did warn him." Valjean turned to the others with an apprehensive smile.

"You could have made a little more effort ..." Marius said with a matching expression.

"I do believe he fell into one of your traps, Father." Cosette commented, placing her fingers on her lower lip in a display of reserved concern.

"You have to admit, he does try his best. It is just a shame that his best is pitiful." her father said, watching on as Eponine rushed put into the garden to rescue her unfortunate comrade.

"You stupid oaf! I never thought I'd get the chance to call you that ... but yes, you really shouldn't have fallen into the same trap twice in one night, especially in front of everyone like that." Eponine grumbled, peering down into the pit. "And I don't think I can get you out. Monsieur Marius helped you last time ..."

"I am not asking him for assistance again! Use your head, girl."

"Maybe you should get some sleep or something." Eponine sniffed, and began to move away towards the fence which encircled the property.

"Sleep?? Now??? How on earth is that the solution?!!"

Another face appeared above him, the full moon creating an irritating halo around his grey, wispy hair.

"Just don't consider having a lie-in, Inspector. I charge rent." Valjean grinned.


	21. The Real Paris Blues Act I

The Bounty Hunters Of Paris

Part Twenty One - The Real Paris Blues (Act I)

Can you believe how long this fic has been going on for? It's crazy. But I said I'd finish it. Oh yes.

Ok. Now things get back on track. Somehow, the bounty hunters have to deal with the students, who really have ventured into the world of work by now. Why on earth did they make Grantaire the Mayor of Paris?? Maybe you shall find out.

* * *

Paris. Yes, Paris. You know the place. Not the kind of city that takes things lying down. When there is unrest, a surge of rebellion, the stench of revolt, it will listen and observe. And when it is truly moved by what it witnesses, it will take action in the most mysterious of ways.

In some respects, Enjolras WAS Paris. Attractive, exciting, yet with a timeless quality and strength of character unrivalled by any other city ... or person. Born to lead, born to be a saviour and a martyr. There was never a flicker of uncertainty in his pretty eyes, nor a stumble in his forceful stride. And he took action when necessary, no matter what the obstacle. Even if the obstacle is a three foot thick stone wall and a swarm of prison guards.

* * *

Feuilly and Joly, who had by now been forced to discard their aliases, sat glumly in their cell. They huddled in one corner, trying to be as physically far away from their filthy cellmate as possible. Babet grinned at them, albeit with more empty space than teeth.

"How did we come to be in this horrid place?" Joly asked.

"I ... really can't remember. It's been too long. My memories have been eaten by the rats and the stench!" lamented Feuilly.

"This place i'nt so bad! It's a lovely sunny ice-cream in the cool tide, dipping our feet in Nice and licking a beach ..." Babet croaked with pride, despite having unsuccessfully quoted Eponine from her experience in the very same cell. He had been practising this phrase over and over for a couple of months, and after the words had become mangled in his head he had thought this was exactly what she had said. The four walls of his current abode dizzied the mind. They had, however, the opposite effect on the two students, who now cowered from the madman Babet. Their twisted thought-patterns as fishermen of the Seine, brought on initially by the strange experience of resurrection (and then developed into an act of sorts), were straightened out by the sobering effects of jail. For the first time since that day at the barricades, they felt afraid. Both the light and the darkness were threats, their sanity tested by the monotenous ranting of their neighbours.

"One more day ... and I may have to bash my head against this wall and hope my brains leave my skull." Feuilly said, running his fingers along the cold partition. Joly would have protested, had he not privately agreed with his friend.

"Perhaps we have entered Hell after all." he merely stated, unable to offer any more words of comfort. He blinked as Babet began to twitch.

"Lookit!" the prisoner cried out gleefully, contorting his body so that his legs wrapped around his head.

"Maybe I should start that head-bashing thing right away." Feuilly said.

* * *

Paris. Again. A place that was feeling a little down in the dumps. Its fighting spirit would never die, yet loyalty, morality and everything inbetween were things that were only temporary. They were, as happened in a periodic fashion, absent for the time being. No one really knew what was going on anymore. But then, with Grantaire as the Mayor, what did you expect?

He had employed some art students from the Academy to decorate the city, but he failed to offer any design specifications. Large displays appeared on plain walls, with seemingly little point other than to show how great Paris was. Couples dancing in front of landmarks, the sun always shining, the stars always bright. This was not, however, a reflection of how it was; it was the dream of the future.

Combeferre grimaced each time he caught sight of these. Especially the latest, which was conveniently visible through Grantaire's office window.

'Such a disgusting sight ...' he thought privately, while giving the Mayor a false smile.

"Now, we need to discuss the new policy on -" he said before being interrupted.

"You're so boring! Unless this policy of yours includes wine or beer." Grantaire raved. Combeferre's glasses glinted.

"Unfortunately ... not." he admitted. It was only then that he detected a strange sound, ever increasing in volume and ... was that anger?

"You know, I liked you a lot better when you only talked to Enjolras about your theories on this and that and the other. Can't you see I just wanna ... sit?" Grantaire said, standing up and sitting back down again to illustrate his point.

"Now may not be a good time to sit -"

"You're just jealous because there isn't a chair on the other side of the desk! Oh wait, there is ... why didn't I notice that ... hahahaha."

Combeferre, no longer a part of the conversation, was peering out of the window and into the street below.

"I think you should have a look at this." he said quietly.

* * *

Combeferre, it appeared, was not the only one riled by the new artistic ventures that were appearing in Paris. In retaliation, they did what they did best; a mob formed, and snaked its way through the narrow lanes of the poor districts, eventually converging on the small plaza by Grantaire's office. The ringleader, a gruff-looking man with what appeared to be pajama bottoms on, bellowed upwards.

"COME ON OUT, MISTER MAYOR!"

Even Grantaire registered the meaning of this. They were looking to have a good old mini-revolution.

"Oh jesus, Combeferre, I'm Marie Antoinette!" he groaned, holding his fuzzy head in both hands.

"Well, you do own a pretty dress." Combeferre said coolly. "The old mayor seemed to like you wearing it, at any rate."

Moment by moment, Grantaire was experiencing a painful sensation; he was becoming sober. Everything would soon come into harsh focus, and he would have to make informed, rational decisions. He'd have to be - god forbid - he'd have to be COMBEFERRE.

With this in mind, Grantaire shuffled out onto his office balcony, glancing down at the masses below. Their clenched teeth and raised (home-made) weapons said it all. And so, without a word, the Mayor bowed before them, trying to embody a regal kind of humility. At first, he was confident that it was winning them over, judging by the amount of surprised gasps issuing from the crowd. But this was short-lived. This was Soberland at its most terrifying.

"What the hell is that???!" someone cried out, prompting everyone else to react as well.

"Are you trying to mock us??!" The Pajama-man shouted, seething with anger.

"All right, that's it!" Grantaire retaliated, and gave the crowd a rude sign involving one, single finger. Silence.

"Now. This is the thanks I get for making Paris a better place to exist? You people sure find strange things to rebel against these days. What happened to the important things, like freedom of speech and liberty? Where has your pride gone? We want to show how great this city is. You too can help in our quest for glory!" he said, his speech containing a selection of mis-quoted parts from Enjolras's infamous rallies. His audience seemed to be genuinely moved, or at least intrigued, by his words.

"And how do we do this?" a thin man next to the ringleader asked. Grantaire smirked.

"By painting MORE murals! More and more! And by making more beer -"

A stone hit him squarely on the forehead as the crowd raged again.

"You rotten animal!"

"You vile traitor!"

"You art-crazed idiot!"

"You snot-nosed brat!"

Grantaire tried in vain to deflect such insults.

"Hey! I may be an animal, a traitor and an idiot, but I am NOT a brat!" he growled, not even noticing Combeferre's quivering hand being placed on his shoulder.

"This is a losing battle." Combeferre croaked, his voice finding it hard to speak any more than that over the din. "What are you going to do now, Monsieur la Mayor?"

Grantaire, surprisingly, had a rather positive expression.

"I'm going to assume that something will happen to put an end to this." he said, and glanced back into his office where a lovely bottle of scotch was waiting for him, sitting seductively on his desk.

"You should know better than that." Combeferre said sternly, adjusting his glasses. "There is a less than 2 percent chance of -"

"GERROFF ME!" a cry rushed through the air, making both men on the balcony turn their attention back to the crowd. The ringleader was being man-handled by two others, one of which had grabbed him from behind.

"Now now, please do not make this situation any worse." the taller of the two said in a clear, deep voice.

"Can't you see that I'm striving for justice here??" the man wearing pajama-bottoms grunted, trying to wriggle free from his captor. The tall man winced.

"Justice ... all right, let us leave this place. Let your cronies here finish the job." he said in an irritated tone.

High above, Grantaire leaned over the balcony's railings, pointing down at the two men who had caused the distraction he had wanted.

"You! You are protectors of Paris. I shall give you some medals and stuff if you like." he grinned. They did not appear to hear him, or perhaps they didn't care.

"Come on, let's go. You're annoying, old man." the shorter of the two mysterious men sighed, pushing Pajama-man towards the edge of the mob. Everyone had quietened down, subdued by events they could not possibly have predicted. In the near silence, as they watched their leader being led away for an unknown reason, a young boy's voice rang out from the next street over:

"Breaking news! Prisoners have escaped following a daring rescue by what is believed to be their accomplice!"

Firstly, they were angered that THEY were not the breaking news. Secondly, the crowd began to murmur with concern.

"What are you going to do, Mayor?" someone yelled.

"I wish people would stop asking me that today! Fine, this is the deal." Grantaire gripped the railings and addressed the expectant Parisians. "If you all get the hell out of here, I will make sure those criminals are put back behind bars, and that the prison is reinforced to make sure it never happens again. You got that?"

"..." After a few nerve-wracking seconds, a ripple of agreement ran through the gathering. As some began to disperse immediately, Combeferre scanned the area for the Pajama-man and the strange men who had taken him to one side. He had left it too late, however, for there was no sign of those odd green and white striped trousers.

"They seemed too familiar for comfort." he said to himself. The men, you understand. Not the trousers.

* * *

Robert Prideux, as he was less commonly known, hated not being able to use his mouth. A piece of coarse cloth was covering his lips, making even the slightest sound in his throat hurt from exersion. He had to let his expressive forehead, reinforced with twenty or so frown lines, do the talking instead. Four faces, a peculiar variety, peered mockingly at him.

"Anyone who disturbs the peace has to get through us first." Courfeyrac said.

"Did you kidnap him from his bed?" Fantine scoffed, oblivious to the captive's feelings.

"No, this appears to be his usual attire." muttered Javert. Prideux chewed on the cloth in his mouth angrily. Who were these people, who dared to tie HIM up?? One minute he was voicing his opinion - no no, that of the masses - and the next he was in some dank basement. The tall, older man thrust a candle next to his face.

"What do you know about the new Mayor of Paris?" he asked, his eyes shining like ice.

"Mmmmmh hmmm mm yrmmm hm."

"Is he a crazy man?" the young girl questioned, prodding his nose with her forefinger. Sighing, Fantine wrestled the cloth from Prideux's jaw, backing away in time to prevent him from biting her hand.

"LET ME OUT OF HERE!!!!" he roared, a torrent of spittle flying into Courfeyrac's face.

"Not until you answer our questions." Javert told him frankly, as Courfeyrac dripped with both spit and comtempt.

"All I know is that he's worse than the last pervert who sat in the Mayor's office." Prideux growled, slouching in his chair. "No one even knows why he's there. I certainly didn't vote for him!"

"I'd be surprised if you even knew HOW to vote." Courfeyrac muttered, wiping his brow with his unfortunate sleeve.

"The whole of the city's officials are all new, you know. No one is sure where the old ones have got to. Some say they're in England; some say they were murdered and disposed of secretly. Is it so wrong for us to be suspicious?" Prideux had evidently calmed down.

"That actually makes sense." Fantine said, pouting thoughtfully. "And it also explains that strange letter."

"What strange letter?" their captive said, as if he was a part of the team. Fantine held it up, its scrawled contents dancing on the page by the light of the candle. It read:

PREFECT OF POLICE - 2000 francs.

MINISTER FOR BOUNTY HUNTERS - 2500 francs.

DOMESTIC SECRETARY - 3000 francs.

SECRETARY TO THE MAYOR OF PARIS - 1500 francs.

THE MAYOR OF PARIS - 5000 francs.

"I agree, it is very odd." Prideux acknowledged, rubbing his bearded chin with a hand. A hand ...

"Just when did you free yourself??" Javert exclaimed, scrabbling to restrain the man.

"Ahh, well you should have done your research more thoroughly. My old father was captured when he joined the storm which felled the Bastille, and learned a trick or two of how to escape. That is the only legacy he passed on to me ..."

"Shame he didn't pass on any fashion sense then!" Courfeyrac dived to wrap his arms around those awful pajama bottoms. As Prideux kicked him away and pushed Javert into the nearby wall, he smiled with menace at the two women.

"If you want to prevent yourselves from being enemies of the people, listen well." He bared his teeth, standing to his full, rather impressive height. "I would interpret that note as a description of bounties. If you can bring these pretenders to justice, we may not burn your house down."

"My house ..." Javert croaked, winded by his collision with the brick wall.

"Yes. Just look at what the power of the people have achieved in the past." Prideux said, before making a break for it. Fantine, her dextrous self as always, whipped out a pistol and bopped Prideux on the back of the head with it as he passed. Stumbling, he lurched for the stairs. Like a monkey, Eponine leapt onto his large expanse of back and dug her nails in hard. He threw his torso this way and that, causing her legs to swing about. Consequently, she kicked both Fantine and Courfeyrac clean in their surprised faces before being flung off. For such a hulk of a man, Prideux soon disappeared into the hallway and out of the house, picking up speed as he ran down the street and scaring many bystanders by his wild appearance.

The bounty hunters, ashamed, picked themselves up and regrouped.

"Maybe he's right about the letter." Fantine said, one hand clutching the paper and the other nursing her bruised cheekbone. "If that's the kind of money they're asking for, then I'd go to the Mayor's office this very minute."

"But why would the Minister for Bounty Hunters be on the list if this was the case?" Javert pointed out. Eponine's shoulders fell dejectedly. She hated puzzles.

"Well, I do know that Mr Pajamas was wrong about one thing." Courfeyrac said whilst searching for something cold to place on his swollen eye.

"Which is ...?" Javert asked.

"The power of the people is truly a dream. It is, even if it is not obvious, down to the power of one, whether they win or lose, succeed or fail." Courfeyrac then laughed. "Or, in this case, the power of four."

* * *

Enjolras placed two generous servings of whisky on the bar, which had been polished up to its former glory. He brushed his long, wavy bangs from his eyes and smiled warmly at the two, shaking young men before him.

"Were you expecting to rot in that horrid place?" he chuckled, resting his elbows on the bar.

"Oh yes, that would have been an unfortunate way to go." Feuilly said, downing his drink in one gulp. "Our room-mate was insane."

They were covered in dust, clouds of which Joly occasionally coughed up. Enjolras had coolly escorted the two convicts to their old base, in which he actually spent the majority of his time. He believed that, as the centre of their original campaign, he would never forget what they were ultimately striving for.

"Well, all that matters is that we caught up with you when we did." the blonde man said. "Amnesia is truly troublesome. Although, it was an excellent basis for hiring you both as my Special Agents."

"I know what you're getting at." Feuilly grinned, nudging Joly who was busy checking his tongue in the mirror behind the bar.

"Ah, yeah. You wanted to know about Courfeyrac." he said, his tongue retracting into his mouth. Enjolras nodded with collected eagerness.

"But first, tell us this." Feuilly cleared his throat. "If you wanted us to keep tabs on him, why did you send three of our brothers round to the Cop's house?"

"..."

"Can you not explain, Enjolras?" Feuilly tried again. Their leader's fine eyebrow (likely plucked, although it could have been naturally perfect) noticably twitched.

"They took a direct approach. I did not instruct them to do so." he said, pouring himself a drink. "Besides, it was not Courfeyrac that they were interested in."

Joly blinked multiple times, and looked over at his partner.

"Who did they really go to find, then?" he asked slowly.

"The woman." Enjolras replied.

* * *

Fantine's head appeared through the hole in the basement floor. Eponine, busy at her work-bench, did not even notice.

"What are you doing?" the older woman asked, drumming her fingernails on the dusty floorboards. She had only ever been up to visit Eponine a couple of times, and each time the pile of weird objects and contraptions next to the bench had been larger, higher and more colourful.

"Preparations." was the reply. This was unsatisfactory.

"For?"

"Whatever comes our way, Trigger." the girl said slowly, concentrating on the motion of the needle in her hand. She appeared to be sewing. The glint of the needle caught Fantine's eye, and she hauled herself up to get a better look.

"A new outfit? Ohh, do tell me that it's for me!" she smiled broadly, clasping her hands together.

"... nope." Eponine said. "It's for me."

Fantine's shoulders slumped, and a pout formed on her rouged lips.

"Selfish ..." she said, rather hypocritically, and was about to storm away to complain to Courfeyrac or Javert (whoever she found first).

"But yours is hanging up on the back wall." Eponine motioned in the corresponding direction with her head. Whirling around, Fantine caught sight of it. It was ... well, it looked rather modern. The ensemble consisted of a dress and a riding jacket, made of velvet and satin of rich purple, white and black. The effect was rather striking.

"You seem to have a history with lighter colours - but I think these suit your image better." Eponine offered her opinion whilst turning around in her chair. "And wait until you see what it does!"

"What it ... does? This clothing ... does things?" Fantine asked, stepping over to the garments to inspect them closely. Sure enough, what she had originally thought of as straps on the bottom of the jacket were actually gun holsters - rather feminine gun holsters, but that sort of unpredictable quality was pleasing to her.

"All right." Fantine said, rubbing her fingers over the soft velvet, "Show me all the tricks you have installed. Seems as though I'll be needing some soon enough."

* * *

"And he handled the situation ... in rather a slap-dash, random manner." Combeferre read from his clipboard, concluding his daily report to Enjolras. The blonde man, his slender hand raised to his face, let out an amused puff of air.

"That sounds like the Grantaire we know and love." he said, bemused.

"At least he quelled the disturbance." Combeferre said. "I do not doubt that the people shall raise an objection again, however. If only we could spread a message, to let them know it is all for their own good."

Enjolras considered this point, his forefinger rubbing his sharp chin. The reason why they had gone incognito this time around, or mostly incognito, was because they had learned from their past mistakes. He was not willing to let this mysterious second chance go to waste.

"In that case, it is time for Plan B." he concluded.

"Plan ... B? But we don't have a -"

"We do." Enjolras interupted his comrade. "Because I just thought of it."


	22. The Real Paris Blues Act II

The Bounty Hunters Of Paris

Part Twenty Two - The Real Paris Blues (Act II)

Guess what I went to see ...? Yep, the 25th Anniversary Concert at the O2 Arena in London. And so here is the next chapter. (Even though that was some months back.)

And then a kind reviewer, uh, reviewed this, so it spurred me on to upload.

I was going to finish this arc in this chapter, but it envolved past what I originally intended for it. So please enjoy~!

* * *

Pascal Martin was just about the most unremarkable young man that ever walked the face of the earth. At least, that is what many who took the time to notice his unassuming presence thought. He positively blended into the wallpaper when faced with a lithe, blonde beauty of a man. Here Pascal was, seated in a small converted tavern, giving the interview of his life.

Enjolras sat at a high desk, its wooden surface a chunk of modified bar, trying to focus his attention on the interviewee.

"Monsieur Enjolras, it is truly an honour for you to receive me at a time when I am sure you are very busy -" Pascal bowed his head politely, until he realised the other man's gaze had wandered to the left. "Monsieur?"

"Oh." Enjolras blinked. "Sorry, a piece of floating dust distracted me."

Pascal's face morphed into an expression of irritated amazement. 'That's more interesting than me?' he thought.

"Well, you seem committed. We shall get back to you regarding your application." Enjolras said, half smiling and rising from his seat (a bar stool).

"But we haven't ... I haven't said anything yet!" Pascal protested as respectfully as he could. "I want you to know how devoted I am to your cause, Monsieur!"

"You do seem ... devoted." Enjolras had to agree, and sat back down. "How did you hear about us?"

The whole time, Pascal was aware that a bespectacled man took notes in the corner of the room. What he declared now would be recorded forever - his manifesto of faith towards these fine fellows! He cleared his throat with purpose.

"I remember those days, which shone with light and were shadowed by darkness. So much hope, so much pain. I was friendly with Monsieur Bahorel from our lectures, and one day he invited me to observe the ABC gathering. How moved I was at your divine fervour! I was there when the fighting broke out. I had a musket, but I could not fire it. I want to atone for my unhelpfulness. I'd do anything to - to - are you listening?"

Once again, Enjolras was not paying attention and was looking to the right.

"Hm ... oh, I think there is a woodlouse on the wall." came the explanation. "Ahhh, what's the harm. We shall test you first, and measure your merit henceforth."

Pascal breathed out, relieved. Phase one was complete! He was a step closer to fulfilling his dream of being an accepted member of the Incorporated Affiliated Alliance, as they were known these days. Perhaps, for the first time in his twenty year existance, he would then be noticed by one and all.

"Thank you, Monsieur! I will not let you down - eh - ehhhh? Hello, are you listening to me?"

"Combeferre, I have an itch on my back - could you come here and scratch it?"

* * *

Over a light lunch of cold meat and bread, the bounty hunters discovered that each of them had very different ideas about their next step. Javert, who some years ago would have done anything to make sure justice was served and disregarded material possessions, decided that he'd like to save his house from the flames of rioters and tackle the bounties stated in the letter. Fantine thought that they should split up and take one each (the fifth being open for whoever finished first) to speed up the process and to receive the money as soon as possible. Eponine sensed a trap, but was eager to test out her latest gizmos and outfits so was prepared to go along with whatever was decided upon. Courfeyrac was quiet, but was obviously uninterested in betraying his former comrades.

"Surely it would not be difficult to tackle them one-on-one." Fantine emplored, patting her lips with a napkin as she finished her meal. "There would be less chance of blood-shed that way, too." She shot a glance at the pensive Courfeyrac.

"As you say, it would also be a quick and effective route." Javert nodded, preparing to clean up the kitchen table.

"It's not as if they were elected into their positions anyway! We need to take them down a peg or two."

"As much as I dislike having to adhere to the wishes of people like that pajama fellow, I must protect my home. I do not receive the salary that I once did with the police ..."

"Well with this job, we'd have enough to make up for months of your old paydays!"

"Shut up." Courfeyrac murmured.

"Hm?" Fantine blinked at him.

"I said, you two need to shut up."

His three companions looked at him, hoping that he would provide an explanation for his foul mood.

"These marks ... these bounties. They're my friends. The men who I died alongside. Didn't that mean something to me once ...?" Courfeyrac raised his eyes to the ceiling with an unusual melancholy. "I've been such a fool. They've actually gone and done what we'd always set our hearts on."

"You wanted to hold all those offices yourselves?" Fantine said, leaning on the table with her elbows. "But you're all rich, bright young men. Why use a fruitless revolt to do it?"

"No no, we didn't want to become the Mayor and what-not. No ... we wanted change. Oh, it's too much to go into now." Courfeyrac waved his hands. "But I have to refuse to take part in this. I won't stop you three, but ... count me out."

There was a period of silence, as they considered how important their new-found comrade-ship was. They had each sacrificed much for this lifestyle, and yet they knew they could not have picked up where they had left off. Death had been the end of more than their heart-beats. What they had each come to realise, with some moroseness, is that their lives had been over already. Maybe they had all desired death.

"This is getting boring." Eponine announced, her head lolling about. "How about we just ignore the note?"

"Yes, and I suppose you will compensate me when this house is a pile of scorched rubble?" Javert growled, bearing his teeth in frustration. It seemed to him that people expected he, once the Inspector whom everyone had feared and revered (ish), to be the worker of miracles. He massaged his furrowed forehead to nurse away his pounding headache.

"I am in no hurry to lose my home." Fantine said firmly, patting the table top with conviction. "Just think of all that cold hard cash ... we would have cash and a house. It seems to me that the choice is clear."

"Would you go through with it if they were your friends?" Courfeyrac asked her despairingly.

"Not such good friends, are they? They certainly took their time to get in contact with you. And you saw the mob that were harrassing them yesterday. They are far too busy to even give you a second thought."

"You're a sympathetic soul, aren't you Fantine?"

"No need to get shirty, pretty boy. I'm just telling you how it is."

Eponine let out a cry of exasperation.

"Booooooooooooooooooring. Let's just go get them. We could always, you know, bust them out of jail afterwards. Seems to be pretty easy these days, and I'm speaking from experience." she said, sliding off her seat. Un licked her feet with his rough pink tongue, hoping for some attention.

"That could take some time." Javert said, ignoring the jail break part of her proposal.

"Not if we bust into the annual _Cuisine_ Ball." the girl grinned, holding up a browning pamphlet with an etching of couples dancing and swilling champagne printed on it.

"That says '_Citizens_ Ball'." corrected Javert. "And it has last year's date on it."

Four sets of shoulders sagged, until Fantine looked at the paper more closely.

"Ahh, but the dates were exactly a year ago! If it is around the same time this year, this could be our chance. We've done something very similar before, after all. And at least they wouldn't let that annoying pajama-man anywhere near the venue. That's it ... I'll make some enquiries." she said excitedly, imagining the beautiful outfit she could wear this time around.

As the four of them sought about organising their infiltration (with only a small amount of input from Courfeyrac), Un wagged his stumpy tail and head-butted Javert in the shin a few times. Inside his doggy brain, he wondered if he was suddenly invisible, or had ceased to exist entirely. After all, they hadn't given him any dinner. Therefore, Javert's leg would have to suffice.

"OWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW."

* * *

The Annual Citizens Ball had been established sometime after Robespierre and his friends had decided that they were fit to replace the monarchy, by all those who wanted to curry favour with them and establish themselves as both leaders and one of the people. Those with power who had risen from humble beginnings mingled with a plenthora of Parisian wildlife. Anybody who was anybody, as well as a whole lot of nobody-in-particulars, turned up in fabulous costumes of red, white and blue. No one was sure if it was patriotic or a tongue-in-cheek statement anymore, but it was a great excuse for a party so there was no reason to cancel the festivites. At that time it was held in a converted dancing hall, where the middle classes used to have fun balls whenever there was an engagement, birthday, or death of a wealthy landowner who had left vast sums of money to a friend of a friend. The idea was to bring all classes together in a central location which was not one of the grand official establishments other such events may take place. In fact, it spat in the face of the Grande Ball and while it wasn't looking, took several crates of its alcohol.

The Mayor, falling out of his carriage with a bottle of red wine (he was trying to make a more positive impression) in his hand, gave a tentative wave to the crowd of onlookers and queue of attendees waiting to enter the venue. He was greeted with audible hissing and projectile bricks instead of the cheers and thrown flowers he had hoped for. Combeferre, who had been awaiting Grantaire's arrival from the main doorway, grabbed his arm and dragged him into the building as hastily as possible.

"Sir! Please do not rile up the guests, the night is still young." he begged, sweat beading above his eyebrows.

"All I did was wave at them." Grantaire belched. "Oh god, I forgot wine gives me wind." With that, he took a huge swig from the bottle.

"Do you remember the procedures Enjolras and I went through with you yesterday?" Combeferre asked in hushed tones, leading the other man to a back staircase.

"Hmm, kind of. But can't I enjoy myself a little? This is a ball in my honour, after all."

"No, it's not! It's for the people."

Grantaire considered this with a mystified expression.

"I'm people." he stated frankly.

"Please, just wait upstairs until everyone else has arrived. The signal is -"

"Yeah yeah. I know." the Mayor waved his free hand and staggered up the stairs to a private room which overlooked the main ballroom. Inside was a brandy decanter sitting atop a side table next to a plush velvet armchair. It was as if it was designed specifically for him. After draining the last drops from his wine bottle, Grantaire eagerly took hold of the decanter and, ignoring the glass provided, tipped some down his throat. Through his considerable experience in drinking, he was unable to detect the finer details of taste. All wine tasted kind of dry, all brandy tasted sweet, and all vodka tasted like burning. This was good stuff though, he had to admit, smiling as the warmth and familiar heady feeling of weightlessness took over his body.

"Good year, is it?" someone asked from the doorway.

"Probably." Grantaire replied, collapsing into the armchair. He blinked a few times until the figure came into focus. "Oh, it's you."

* * *

A procession of weird and wonderful guests filed past Combeferre, his clipboard pounded by quick bursts of ticks as he checked the list. It may have been a ball for everyone, but the IAA didn't want the wrong kind of everyone attending. The elders had dug out their old clothing from the Revolution days, surging forward in a mass of red, white and blue stripes, almost like a long streak of toothpaste. Had toothpaste existed in a modern format, that would probably crossed Combeferre's mind.

It was about nine o'clock as he considered taking a break to check on his colleagues (he was pretty much everyone's babysitter, after all) and the sky had eliminated any trace of the late spring sunset. Under the glare of the full moon, two very odd creatures sauntered by. The man was tall, to be sure, but his two foot high hat made him stand out beyond comprehension. He had a dark brown bushy beard, so thick it masked his lips. The most intriguing thing about his appearance was what appeared to be a huge stomach under his cobalt blue waistcoat and white shirt, oddly square in shape. He twiddled a cane between his forefinger and thumb, knocking it into the legs of his female companion numerous times. She had evidently come in fancy dress and had made a considerable effort to look both fabulous and ridiculous at the same time. The cream coloured gown that draped seductively over her slender figure, the meticulously curled blonde ringlets and random pieces of fruit lodged into crevises between them, the tuneless little harp made from cheesewire and the arm of a dining chair, created the illusion of a Roman goddess of hen parties.

"Monsieur and Madame Armand de Lefevre of Le Marais ... just down the road, actually." the gentleman announced with no prompt from Combeferre, tipping his incredible hat with a semblance of grace. Before the secretary had chance to find the names, they had swanned unashamedly into the building in a cloud of cheap perfume and snuff particles. This flurry settled onto the glass of Combeferre's spectacles. This made it impossible to continue checking the list, and so with a droop of his shoulders, he abandoned his post and went to a dark corner to calm himself.

* * *

Grantaire gestured to an empty space.

"Take a seat, pal." he said, genuinely not realising that there was no seat. "It's been a long time, Courfeyrac. I thought you were dead, and all that."

Courfeyrac, dressed in the uniform of the staff members of the venue, stepped further into the room but far away enough from the edge of the balcony that he would not be visible down below.

"Yeah, that's why Combeferre and the others came looking for me."

"No need to get shirty. You could have easily joined us, we still hang out at the same place as always. You were always in the ABC back then ..."

"As were you."

"Ahh, true."

Grantaire rested his brandy decanter in his lap after concluding that it was strong even by his standards.

"So why exactly did you defect from us? Maybe you were blackmailed by the policeman, or you have taken a fancy to that woman ..."

"Grantaire, keep your theories to yourself. Even if I told you, it wouldn't do you much good when I've handed you over."

"Handed me over? What the hell are you on about?" Grantaire eyed his drink with suspicion.

"You heard me right, my old inebriated friend. You and the other impostors are going to make us some real money. Besides which, your ridiculous regime has to end. How long do you really expect it to last?"

The two men were temporarily distracted by a loud shriek from the floor below. Grantaire was too lazy to peer down to see what it was, and Courfeyrac did not want to be seen.

"I think it's a miracle we even got this far. It may well last forever. If you want to preach to the contrary, go talk to Enjolras."

Courfeyrac edged closer to the other man, knowing that despite being mostly drunk he was quite strong. Well, strong, or maybe just deadweight.

"I will talk with him. Just as soon as you are out of action."

Grantaire, sensing an imminent attack, chose that moment to roll off his chair and onto the carpet. The remaining brandy flew from the decanter and left a streaky stain on the wall by the doorway. Instead of jumping on him, Courfeyrac backed up to the exit to block the only way out that would not result in at least a broken spine.

"Give it up, Grantaire." he growled, "You wouldn't want to be the famous Rebel Hunter's first fatality, would you?"

"Who?" the drunk muttered, flopping about on his front like a trout out of water.

"Me, that's me!"

"Well, that's not a very imaginative alias is it? It ..." Grantaire suddenly lost his train of thoughts, which was not unusual apart from the simultaneous lockjaw. In fact, all of his limbs felt dead and limp.

"Oldest trick in the book." Courfeyrac smirked, kicking the empty decanter to one side.

* * *

"Ohhhhhhhhh unhand me!" the large lady in a shocking mustard coloured dress screeched into the ear of her molester. The strange bearded man tipped his hat and cleared his throat with a rumble.

"Excuse me, Madame. My cane slipped." he apologised, and tried to remove his accessory from where it had wedged itself between two rolls of fat. The woman's husband, who was shocked and amused, assisted him.

"You have GOT to stop playing around with that thing." Madame Armand de Lefevre of Le Marais, the Grecian wench, hissed at her companion as they hurried away from the crime scene. He gazed sadly at the cane, defiled as it was.

"It takes me back to my night-stick days." he sniffed.

"Ditto." shuddered Fantine. "Anyway, enough of that. Could you stop walking into people? Just - watch out!"

Javert was rather bigger out in front than usual and was finding that the cushion stuffed under his clothes ruined his depth perception.

"Maybe we should find a quiet spot ..." he said, looking over the top of many peoples' heads. All the candles in one particular corner in the buffet area had curiously gone out and it seemed ominous enough for a secret discussion. Javert led Fantine over, weaving between the throngs of revellers who cast bewildered glances upon their costumes.

"Phase One is officially complete." he announced as they reached the spot, "Do we know the current status of our cohorts?"

"Is this necessary, Pyscho? But since you asked, Swifty is mingling with hor d'oeuvres and the Hunter has a planned rendezvous with the Mayor in his private quarters."

They both looked up at the balcony overlooking the room.

"Not very private, is it?" Javert observed.

"So now we have to wait for Swifty's report as to the whereabouts of the other targets. It's odd, though ... I haven't seen any sign of her at all."

"She is probably eating all the appetizers herself while hiding under a table. In the meantime, would you care to dance?"

"... what?"

"Would you care to dance? This is a ball, after all. Is that not what people do at such events?"

"It is, but I think I'd rather die than waltz with you again."

"Suit yourself. I was only attempting to get into character. As YOUR husband, perish the thought." Javert scratched his chin through his false beard.

"Oh, is the thought so abhorrent to you? You should have seen me in my prime! I was the prettiest girl in the town, AND of course I'm intelligent as they come. Sure, I had a blip ... you didn't exactly help me though, did you?"

"Help you? That criminal did, and look where that got you! Even now, I would no more assist a whore than a, than a ... well, someone I would never help!"

As the argument gained momentum, some tentative onlookers moved closer to the couple.

"That's just it with you. You have no one to care for and it's made you rotten inside and out. That's why your cooking stinks, and the house decor is plain and dull."

"What has that got to do with -" Javert said, but suddenly noticed their audience. "I am so sorry my dear, let us not bicker at such a glorious event."

"Quite." Fantine said through gritted teeth. The people watching them turned away slowly, almost sad that there were to be no more verbal fireworks. It was then that an odd sound began to emit from Javert's fake belly.

"What on earth is that?" asked Fantine. Her 'husband' rooted around under his waistcoat, eventually pulling out a rather battered black device.

"It is that item invented by our young friend. I have no idea what she calls it. Hello? Hello?" He began to whisper into it while facing the wall.

"Psycho! Trigger! This party is great. Have you tried the smoked salmon yet?" Eponine's muffled voice said.

"Forget about the food! We are eagerly awaiting your report."

"Ah, but y'see I can't work on an empty stomach ..."

"That is an outright lie, you little _gamine_. You often used to work for that family of yours without having eaten for days. Where are the targets?" Javert hissed, clenching the device so hard it was nearly crushed in his fist.

"Times have changed. I'm different now. Mmm, the selection of cheese is fantastic ... I don't know what they're called though. What is the creamy white one?"

"Brie. It's probably brie." Fantine chipped in helpfully.

"I am warning you, girl! A grand proportion of this mission's success is dependent on your ability to investigate, and so far you are only able to tell us about the menu! One last time ..." Javert was trying not to raise his voice, and began to shake from the effort. He stepped back towards the end of the nearest buffet table until, as his foot brushed the white tablecloth, he heard a distinct yelp. He sank down to his haunches and peered underneath the table. Eponine, in a black and white servers outfit, grinned at him with crumb-covered lips and waved with her sticky fingers.


	23. Rouge Et Noir Ou Blanc

The Bounty Hunters Of Paris

Part Twenty Three - Rouge Et Noir Ou Blanc

Isn't it great how I have to be reminded to carry on with this? I saw an Enjolras cosplayer at a convention. And I had some more lovely reviews, which make me all giddy. :3 Having said that, when I am writing this, I enjoy it! I get to let loose and torture these poor characters.

Also, there will only be three more chapters after this. Please stick with it! I am really sorry that it takes so long for any updates. At least I am consistent at no updating for ages at a time.

Oh, and if find yourself so compelled, please can you let me know which characters you like best in this and who you would like to see more of? I have an idea of where this is going, but this information will help me fill in the gaps. Thank you!

* * *

"There you are! Why did you step on me?" Eponine asked Javert with a disgruntled pout.

"You are supposed to be working here ...!" Javert hissed, pulling the girl up by her arm with little effort. She was wearing the black and white outfit of the servers, and even though it was very ill-fitting (it had not been made for her, of course) she seemed to blend in quite well with the rest of the staff.

"I'm obviously the worker who likes to take extra breaks, then. The laid back one." the girl said defensively, pointing her toes towards the floor as she dangled in the air. She was still holding a serving tray with a few nibbled entrees on it, and with renewed optimism she stuck them under Javert's nose. "Break time is over! Want one, Monsieur?"

"No I do not." Javert barked, dropping her onto her feet. "I have had enough of this. Surely he has finished his first assignment ... what do you think, Madame de Lefevre?" To his left, where Fantine had been standing, was a small woman who could not see the tall man's face beyond the fake stomach. He craned down to look at her closely, just as she peered up with a startled expression.

"Didn't you try to arrest me once?" she asked cautiously. Whether his disguise was awful at concealing his identity or he looked just like another policeman, no one would ever find out.

"Absolutely not." Javert said firmly, and began searching around for his female companion.

"Fantine? Fantine?" he called, seeing as her alias had not lured her out. Eponine chewed on yet more cheese as she followed him around the vicinity of the buffet table.

"Perhaps she has gone elsewhere?" Javert mused, scratching his upper lip where the false beard was most ticklish. The problem, aside from the deviation from their plan, was that he never liked to let her out of his sight. This was probably due to her tendancy to dip into their collective bounty fund whenever she wanted to buy a new outfit and her past flirtations with the dark side of life. If he had to be perfectly honest with himself, Javert did not completely trust any of his ... friends? Could he ever call such people that? He had never had a friend before, so he was not sure. As he became increasingly agitated, the ex-Inspector paced about the edge of the dancefloor, wondering if Fantine had attracted a rich suitor and was using her charms to place her name into his Will. Then he remembered what she was wearing that evening, and quickly dismissed this thought.

* * *

The walking-talking statue of Venus trailed her way through the crowd to the front entrance, certain that she could provide an alluring distraction for one of their targets. She was attracting a fair few glances; after all, her outfit was crazy and her perfume so strong that it could choke a Duke at ten paces. She was, however, convinced that she was the most beautiful thing in the room. With this in mind, she sashayed over to a young man with a wedge of papers under his arm and a pair of light, kind eyes. He had evidently made an effort to look smart, yet his shirt was creeping out from his breeches and his hair looked like someone had lovingly ruffled it. From the description she had received from Courfeyrac, this had to be the one they called a dandy. It took someone from a peasant background to know another, and she could tell he came from humble beginnings from ten paces. He had, it must be said, come a long way from the small hovel he had once called home. His hair was immaculately combed and shaped around his skull, and his clothing pressed to within an inch of its fibres.

"Excuse me, Monsieur ..." Fantine said, placing her hand meaningfully on her hip. "Are you ... could it be ..."

The young man whirled around, and was suddenly struck by this ... vision.

"Ah, yes I am! The Minister for Bounty Hunters, Monsieur Bahorel, at your service." he said, bowing his head. "And you are ..?"

"Um, Madame de La ... Le ... La-le. From, uh, down the road."

"It is a pleasure to make your aquaintance, Madame." Bahorel tried to take her hand to kiss, but his arm jerked out involuntarily and knocked her in the bosom instead. Mortified, he started to shrink away.

"Oh gosh! How could I have ... I am so ..."

"Monsieur Bahorel, you are a bold one!" Fantine tittered, slapping his playfully on the arm. "Shall we take this conversation elsewhere?"

"Please don't tell anyone." the young man was saying over and over again, his eyes darting around. "Please ..."

"Oh be quiet and come with me." Fantine said, becoming a little agitated. She took his hand in hers and led him swiftly to the door leading into the gardens.

* * *

"She's done a runner." Eponine said nonchalently to Javert, who was panting heavily while leaning against a pillar. Searching around the large ballroom while in such a stifling outfit and atmosphere was affecting him more than he cared to admit.

"That woman ..." he muttered darkly.

"Look, for all we know she's doing her dirty work as we speak. It's probably time we did the same." Eponine said, tossing the now empty serving tray to the floor and wiping her hands on the coat-tails of a nearby gentleman. "I'll make sure Cour-Cour is all right, and then I'll meet you with our targets at the meeting spot."

Leaving Javert to recover, Eponine headed towards the staircase which Courfeyrac had ascended to reach Grantaire. She saw that Combeferre was still busy at the main door, and even though he was occupied and she was in a staff uniform, she was glad that she did not have to make the effort to slip past. She was quick to reach the private balcony, where Courfeyrac was tying the last knot on Grantaire's rope retraints.

"Cour-Cour! You've been taking your time. What happened to the signal?" Eponine asked him in a hushed voice. The young man turned his head slightly.

"I'm not sure that there was ever going to be a signal." he replied.

"What do you mean?"

Courfeyrac stood up, his hands visibly shaking.

"Do you understand what this means for me? I went through so much with these guys not too long ago. I was prepared to die for them. How did it come to this?"

"If you aren't sure, then why did you tie him up?"

"That's because I'm afraid of what he'd do to me when he awakens. Alcohol gives him super-human strength. Anyway, because I've come this far I'm just going to have to leave everything. I can't stay with you, and I certainly can't go back with the ABC group." Courfeyrac said, barely able to look Eponine in the eye.

"So that's it then? You're giving up because of your rich boy angst."

"What do -you- know about it?"

Eponine glared at Courfeyrac with narrowed eyes.

"I hope you remember that I had to betray my Papa's cronies. If they ever see me again, they'll kill me on the spot. Oh, and why don't you go ask the other two what they've sacrificed for some petty cash, huh? Honestly, your whining is getting really boring, Cour-Cour. I suggest you stop complaining and get to the hunting. You're the Rebel Hunter! Feared and famed throughout Paris for your ruthless methods and high success rate. If you want to give up, then do it. But we wouldn't want to see you again. You were all like the family I never had. None of you ever hit me or made me do naughty things, after all. You made me feel really special. I don't want a brother who would walk out on us."

Grantaire started to snore loudly.

"You see me as a brother, 'Ponine?"

She sniffed and scuffed her shoes on the floor.

"I guess."

Suitably moved by her inarticulate speech, Courfeyrac moved to her and put his hands on her tiny shoulders.

"If you do your part, I'll see you at the meeting point with this damn drunk. If anything, I suppose we need to teach them a lesson. They all studied politics at one time or another, and they should know never to dabble in it."

They both laughed.

"I have no idea what you're on about, but it sounds more like your normal self." Eponine grinned, giving him a wink and prepared to skip off to her next destination. Courfeyrac hurried over to the balcony edge, stopping short of the railings and dropping to the ground. He stuck his hand out, so that only someone who know what to look for would notice it.

* * *

Javert's eyes were trained onto the exact spot that the hand appeared at the balcony. It started by waving slowly, and then after a few moments, it was replaced by a smaller, paler hand which made a rude gesture.

"That wasn't the signal!" Javert cried in disgust. However, his brief rest at the pillar had both calmed and cooled him down. He was now ready for action.

As he meandered (though his meandering was fairly rigid) through the throngs of attendees, a chorus of giggles rang out from a group of young women nearby.

"Oh ho ho, Monsieur la Prefect! You are surely the most witty man here!" they tittered, surrounding a rather proud looking man with a beaming grin spread over his face. It was the kind of face that brought out some of the most violent thoughts in Javert.

"Well, you know how I am the only one who can hold my drink! Eventually, poor baldy found his underwear nailed above his front door. How we laughed." he was recounting, to the delight of his female fans. With his increased mass, Javert found it easy to push through to the front of the group.

"You? You are the new Prefect of Police? Nonsense." he snarled, pushing the tip of his forefinger into the chest of the target of his abuse. The man ruffled his mop of brown hair with a nervous laugh.

"You see, ladies? This is a perfect example of someone who is going to be seeing a lot more of their undergarments adorning random areas of their house. How many glasses have you had, my dear Monsieur?"

"I do not wear glasses." Javert said blankly, but then recovered. "Ha! I have just proven my theory to be correct. If you truly were the Prefect, you would have had me arrested for assault."

"Oh Monsieur! I hardly think -"

Javert, adrenaline pumping through his brain with the gusto of an exploding volcano, stamped his foot with a deafening thud on the floor.

"In fact, if you were the Prefect, who is supposed to be a man among men, you would escort me to the holding cells of the local police station with no delay. By yourself." He added the last part quickly. Jean Provaire was having trouble deciphering the intentions of this crazy middle-aged bourgeois. All poetry had left him. The world of law enforcement was an ugly place indeed.

"That is quite right!" he said after contemplating the effect this would have on his reputation for a few moments. "If you would just follow me."

"No, we need to go through the back way. It is a short cut known only to degenerates such as myself." Javert told him with a slight shudder.

"Ah, of course ... how dangerously dangerous this will be! I feel that I shall soon have to dispose of prose and speak in improvised verse!"

"Please restrain yourself." Javert muttered darkly, leading Jean Provaire through the throngs to the back exit.

* * *

During this time, an astonishingly handsome pair of twinkling blue eyes watched the activity with great interest. From his position in the centre of the grand room, Enjolras had observed every strange movement of the bounty hunters without their knowledge. A pair of opera glasses had helped immensely, and he set them down on his lap as Javert disappeared from view with Jean Provaire in tow. Panting, Combeferre appeared beside him, still clutching his clipboard.

"You look very relaxed." the bespectacled man said between breaths. Enjolras slowly turned his gaze to his associate, his face giving no indication of his present emotions.

"That is because our party-crashers are the most idiotic bunch of fools to ever grace Paris." he said coolly, taking a small sip of his wine. A few of his female admirers, who surrounded his from all angles, giggled behind their fans at something that they did not understand.

"Still, it was a very prudent course of action to inform the others of their intentions." Combeferre was recovering and stood up straight-backed. "Very prudent indeed. A good move on your part."

Enjolras's eyes widened slightly.

"Well, it was my suggestion, but I do recall asking you to brief them yourself ..."

"I do not remember such an instruction. Oh ..."

They stared at each other for what seemed to be hours on end.

"Ahhh!" Combeferre cried, involuntarily flinging his clipboard over his shoulder. "They have been led astray after all!"

"Combeferre." Enjolras set his wine glass down on the lap of his nearest fangirl. "It is now down to few of us left to save the evening, and indeed, our organisation. Who do we have left?"

Combeferre looked at his hand, expecting to see his clipboard there. "Uh, there is us and Lesgle. And Feuilly and Joly are somewhere in here incognito."

"So there seems to be little hope ..." the leader said with a heavy heart. How on earth could they be out-maneuvered by those bounty hunters? One was a middle-aged ex-cop who could not see anything past the laws of the land; one was a seemingly insane gamine who only thought about her next meal; another was a failed single mother who wore false teeth and had an unfashionably short hairstyle; and the last was by all accounts a foppish student with a tendancy to let his emotions rule over his common sense. And yet they were an unstoppable _tour de force_.

"If we could get Feuilly and Joly to intercept them, we could get them to give out the duress code." Combeferre was saying to his clipboard earnestly.

"What is that?" Enjolras asked him.

"I set up a verbal code should an emergency such as this arise. They only need to say, 'Is it misty in Rue des Rosiers today, if so shall we eat _poulet au vin blanc_ tonight?'."

"That ... makes no sense at all."

"That is the point. It bears no reference to the situation, and it is unlikely that anyone would say it under any circumstances."

Enjolras decided that this was the reason why Combeferre was the pillar supporting the organisational side of things. He instructed him to search around for Feuilly and Joly, deciding that he himself should stay visible and surrounded by pretty ladies and flowing wine. What a martyr to the cause.

* * *

In a dimly-lit alley at the very rear of the building, around the corner from the gardens and secluded enough to not be overheard, two men stood beside a small heap of prone forms. One of them was snoring.

"Is he incapable of being quiet? He is surely the most noisy fellow I have ever come across." Javert was complaining to Courfeyrac.

"Yes, he is the most noisy fellow you will ever come across. It is quite odd to look at them this way ..." the younger man said, tilting his head whilst looking down at their captives. Jean Provaire was draped over Grantaire's heaving chest, dribble making a stain on his collar.

"I would avoid looking at them at all, unless it is necessary." Javert said to him, peering around the wall at the end of the alley. He could have sworn he had heard Fantine's unmistakable giggle echoing from the gardens. He did wonder, though he regretted it immediately, if she was going to take advantage of the situation and have her wicked way with her target. His opinion of her had barely changed from the first time they had met many years previously; it had shifted a little towards tolerance, a little back to complete distrust, and then settled at disapproval yet acceptance. He would never see her as a respectable woman, but he could appreciate that she had been dealt an unfortunate hand somewhere down the road of her miserable life.

"Why are you leading me into that dark, secluded alley?" Bahorel asked Fantine as they drew closer. The tittering continued.

"You must apologise to me! And this is the only apology that I will accept from you, you naughty man."

Courfeyrac watched as Javert tried not to gag.

"But I - I - I have only just met you! How about a nice dinner date first? It would be nice to get to know each other before ..." Bahorel was babbling, seemingly too stunned to stop himself from being dragged by the slight woman. As they rounded the corner, the two bounty hunters who were waiting raised their weapons; pieces of firewood. Not enough to kill their prey, but effective for a few hours of unconsciousness.

Fantine ducked as the pieces of wood came crashing down onto Bahorel's skull. He let out a very surprised gasp before tumbling onto Jean Provaire's back.

"You took a long time." Javert glared at Fantine, dropping the firewood and rolling up his sleeves.

"Must be losing my touch." she retorted.

They collectively moved the three members of the IAA further down the alley, praying that their comrade was down the other end and ready to meet them. Luckily, she did not disappoint.

In a small courtyard reserved for the staff of the venue, Eponine sat astride a rather fine looking black fiacre.

"Where did you obtain this?" Javert asked grimly. She grinned.

"Nicked it."

"It hardly compares with the sort of things these guys were plotting and carrying out." Fantine said in the girl's defence as she pulled Bahorel over to the fiacre.

When they were all loaded in, Javert climbed up to the drivers spot and snatched the horses' reins from Eponine.

"Oi!"

"You have done quite enough. Now let me, the more experienced driver, take over."

"You never drove one of these. You just have experience of sitting in them and being driven around. There's a bit of a difference!"

"Still, more experience than you." the man smirked triumphantly, and whipped the reins with great strength.

* * *

The waves smashed against the stones, sending a threatening spray over the edge. Droplets peppered the ground at an alarming rate. The water was thrashing, disturbed from its usual tranquility.

Joly and Feuilly were fishing in the small, man-made pond at the far end the gardens. Whether there were any fish in it was a mystery.

"You two!" Combeferre called, panting as he galloped over the grass. They did not respond.

"Excuse me? What are you doing there? We have an emergency!"

Joly turned his head a little.

"You ..." Combeferre stopped as he reached the pond and his body sagged.

"Can we help you?" Joly said.

"Yes you can!" Combeferre growled, but then regained his normal composure. "Could you please stop that and help us? If we get moving now, we can apprehend 'them'."

"You mean 'them'? You should have said so earlier!" Feuilly smiled, placing his fishing rod down on the ground. Feeling a sense of exasperation overwhelming him again, Combeferre thrust a small piece of paper into Feuilly's hand.

"There. Head over there and make sure the police are with you when 'they' arrive. If you tell them that their precious new Prefect has been kidnapped they will be certain to assist."

The pair studied the directions stated on the paper carefully.

"How are we supposed to get there quickly? I'm guessing they're already on their way." Joly said sceptically.

"We did not rescue you from your wrongful imprisonment for no good reason. Improvise." Combeferre ordered, waving his clipboard in their general direction.

They scarpered, leaving him standing alone in the moonlit garden. The pond was now still once more. A solitary fish poked its head from beneath the waters surface and looked at Combeferre.

"Oh, how fantastic." he sighed. "They couldn't even catch you."

The fish produced a few bubbles, in a rather mocking manner, and swam away.


	24. Wild Gamin

The Bounty Hunters Of Paris

Part Twenty Four - Wild Gamin

Guess what I saw at the cinema recently?

It's a shame Javert wasn't featured in the film. I don't know who it was Crowe played.

In other news, I have gone back and fixed a few chapters which seemed to have been messed up. Goes to show how old these documents are!

* * *

"Prefect of Police - 2000 francs. Minister for Bounty Hunters - 2500 francs. The Mayor of Paris - 5000 francs." Fantine recited off by heart. She clutched the mysterious letter, the origins of which were still unknown, to her chest with a fondness she rarely displayed.

"I still don't get why anyone would give five squillion francs for him - he's so smelly and gross." Eponine complained, curling her mouth as she looked at Grantaire. The bodies of their three captives were slumped on the floor of the fiacre, and anyone would think them deceased if it were not for the occasional snoring and Grantaire's habit of breaking wind at every large bump in the road.

"It will be worth it in the end if you focus on the money." said Fantine, sighing with satisfaction. The girl did not share the same fascination with cold hard cash, far preferring shiny and interesting things in general. Her father loved it, but never indulged her after they moved to Paris, and thus it became almost meaningless to her until she resorted to pickpocketing. Having largely ignored Fantine's words, Eponine sat with her legs folded on the seat inside the carriage and drummed her lower lip with her fingers.

"Didn't think we'd end up going into undertaking and looking after stiffs." she said. Fantine looked at her quizzically.

"What do you mean? These men are not dead." she laughed uneasily, briefly considering checking for their pulses to make certain.

"Oh, it's just that they look pretty dead to me."

Fantine wondered how on earth her young associate could possibly miss the periodic groans and snorts coming from the pile, as has been previously described. She could only shake her head in disbelief.

At that moment, the fiacre rolled to a stop and the horses rested their clattering hooves. The face of Courfeyrac, who had been seated up top with Javert, appeared at the window with an uneasy expression. He was either still battling with his feelings over his old comrades, or it was the result of being subjected to Javert's dubious conversational skills during the journey.

"We're here." he mouthed through the mud-flecked glass, prompting Fantine to open the door. They were in a quiet suburban street, gloomy from the shadows cast by the tall tenement buildings lining both sides of the road. It was obvious to Fantine and Courfeyrac that one of Javert's most useful skills was his encyclopedic knowledge of all Parisian districts. Eponine knew her way around (as she constantly reminded them), but individual addresses meant next to nothing to her.

"I was expecting something more ... grand." Fantine admitted, getting out of the fiacre and enveloping herself in a long coat to conceal her strange fancy dress outfit. Courfeyrac slumped, looking sadly at the heap of young men on the floor of the carriage.

"I was expecting something worse." he said. After Javert had climbed down from the top and secured the horses, the two men pulled out the hostages and laid them on the ground. In the meantime, Eponine scoped the area to make sure they were not in the middle of a trap. The majority of the tenement inhabitants were factory workers and were currently deeply sleeping during their short respite time between shifts. Fantine waited for her to give an all clear sign, and then proceeded to knock on the door of their destination.

* * *

Combeferre entered the room with great trepidation. He was almost relieved to see Enjolras with his nose in his latest issue of the Rosseau fanclub pamphlet. The bespectacled man winced at every echo his steps created on the scuffed floor, still littered with broken glass, wine stains and slimy crumbs of the buffet. The place had emptied of people, and the only people left were those who had organised the event.

With barely a glance up from his red, white and blue pamphlet, Enjolras wriggled his shoulders and made a noise of discontent. However, instead of berating his secretary he spoke sombrely and with an uncharacteristic tiredness.

"You know, my friend, I have had enough of all this. It's about time to give it up."

"Huh?"

"This, all of this." Enjolras motioned to the ballroom with a wave of his hand. "We failed at the barricades and we failed here again tonight. Not even the take over of the Parisian authorities was enough. How funny that those three were responsible for our downfall this time. Heh. The cop who we foiled, the girl who died protecting us, and our brother-in-arms."

"I can't believe you are saying such things, Enjolras ... though, I think the girl died protecting Marius, rather than the collective group."

"It barely matters now. We've lost our dear comrades again. We've lost the fight. Life seems completely empty now that we do not have Provaire's poetry, or Grantaire's dirty jokes, or Bahorel's ... uh ... oh, it's all hopeless. Shall we just retire to the country, to some remote farm in Provence? Are you good with plants?"

Combeferre wanted to say that he felt like he was having a conversation with a plant, but restrained his tongue.

"You cannot truly mean any of this. Every great man has moments of doubt at some point or another during his ascention. Plus, it is a little cliche."

"You see this?" Enjolras said, holding up his pamphlet. "Half of it doesn't even make sense. No wonder things didn't work out for Robespierre all those years ago."

"Now I know you're going mad!" Combeferre cried out, dropping to crouching position beside the blonde man. "Listen, I have sent Feuilly and Joly to find the others. We can send Lesgle after the two of them as well, just as soon as he receives my message - I sent one out as soon as I could. You see? There is nothing to worry about."

Enjolras raised his eyes to those of his friend. Something about the look he was giving made Combeferre uneasy; it was dolefulness mingled with pride.

"You have surpassed me."

"Wha -"

"You have assumed control of the situation, General. It's time for me to hang up my tricolour sash once and for all. This time belongs to the youngsters in the next generation." Enjolras said. He could not be talked round, as much Combeferre protested that he was not suitable leader material. Using a blank sheet of parchment from his clipboard, he scribbled a note to send with another messenger. He folded it hastily (he did not need to wait for ink to dry, for he liked to use pencils) and rushed to the porch of the building. When he got there, he scrawled 'Marius Pontmercy' on the front and pressed it into the hand of an eager errand boy. As the note and the boy blended into the darkness engulfing the end if the road, Combeferre put a hand to his pounding heart and wished that he could see Marius again under better circumstances.

* * *

Fantine barely waited for the old man to fully open the door before launching into something that could barely be considered a greeting.

"We have a special delivery for you, Monsieur." she said. The old man looked at her carefully, his eyes focussing on various parts of her face in succession. He appeared to be somewhat troubled by her, yet nonetheless did not hesitate in back away from the doorway to allow her to enter the hovel. She motioned to her accomplices, two of which dutifully followed her inside with Grantaire swinging between them as they clutched his limbs. The semi-reformed gamine Eponine waited by the fiacre on guard duty.

Once the other three were inside, the student was dumped on the floor in the kitchen area and left to snooze away.

"We have two others as well." Fantine told the old man, who bobbed his head silently. Grimly, Javert and Courfeyrac fetched them and placed them down by Grantaire. Eponine followed them in, as she was positive that they did not have anyone persuing them.

"Cor, it's dark in here." she said, despite the fact that her eyes had already adjusted in the shadowy street outside. Their host seemed verh reluctant to add to the lone candle burning in one of the corners of the main room. Two others led off from this echoey chamber, presumably for toilet activities and a sleeping area.

Before anyone else could comment on the low-lighting, the old man gargled somewhere deep within his throat and tried to usher the four bounty hunters out.

"I trust you will return with the rest; then the money shall be yours." he said politely, but was met with hostile resistance.

"No no, I don't think so Monsieur - we require payment for them right away!" cried out Fantine, her hands grabbing at invisible bank notes.

"What are you going to do with them? This isn't exactly above-board, is it?" Courfeyrac said, trying to step around the man's outstretched and surprising sturdy arms.

"You stink, crazy old man!" Caught up in the highly-charged atmosphere, Eponine could not think of anything else to say to express her bitter disappointment. Above the hub-bub stood the imposing Javert, looking very much the peace-keeper in the midst of a tavern brawl.

"Now now, let me deal with him." he bellowed, pushing away his colleagues and placing a hand firmly on the shoulder of the defiant geriatric, who lowered his face but would not be moved.

"Can this be true ... a man your age to be as strong as you OH MY WORD." Javert gasped, the sense of deja vu and recognition suddenly overwhelming him.

"What is it?" Fantine asked impatiently. Javert leaned down nearer to the old man, his words brimming with the bile of hatred that was older than Courfeyrac.

"Jean Valjean."

"Who?" three voices chimed.

* * *

While this confrontation sizzled in the tenement block, a small figure loitered beside the abandoned fiacre. The brim of an over-sized cap rested on his eyebrows, shielding any facial features above his chin. He had moved in shortly after Eponine had left her post; she was a good street-rat, but none were as good as he. A master of shadows imbued with shining charisma, a king of the streets and a prince among the Parisian gamin - he was Eponine's younger brother, Gavroche. He had long abandoned his surname (or had it abandoned him?) and answered to no one. That is, he used to be a law unto himself until he was befriended by an old man. He recognised Jean Valjean from their exploits at the barricades, and decided that he wasn't too bad for an adult. They verbally agreed on the terms of their future collaborative efforts, seeing as Gavroche could not read or write, with Valjean promising food and coin for Gavroche's street-wise services. The boy was also allowed to decline any work that he was not keen on carrying out.

For now, Gavroche waited for the motley crew of bounty hunters to emerge from the building. It was hard to keep your eyes on a door and two ends of a street, but the allure of fresh bread and cheese made it worth the effort. He was glad that he was being so vigilant when he caught sight of two men round the corner from the north and saunter down the road towards the fiacre. Ducking into a convenient alleyway, Gavroche fixed his attention on the men as they stopped by the horses, who were awfully well-behaved considering Javert's rusty experience and intolerant style of driving coaches. The boy was surprised to find himself looking at Feuilly and Joly, both of whom he had not seen for quite some time. Were they still in league with Courfeyrac, or had they turned against each other due to his new career as a bounty hunter? With this question in mind, Gavroche sprinted down the alleyway to the back of the tenement block and entered the building by a concealed entrance. A dank corridor ran down the length of the structure alongside the individual abodes. At a particular spot on the wall, Gavroche rapped his knuckles furiously five times in quick succession. This was his warning that all was not going to plan.

* * *

The man once known as Prisoner 24601 slowly raised his eyes to the face of the man formerly known as Inspector Javert. In this defiant stance, he suddenly did not seem as frail or elderly, and something about his sad smile began to unnerve Javert.

"Ah." Jean Valjean said, as though acknowledging that the game was up.

"Oh, it's you!" Courfeyrac exclaimed, slapping a palm across his forehead. "You were the one who helped us at the -" He stopped short of mentioning the scene of his most painful memories. Everyone knew what he meant.

"I remember you, old man. You're the one who took away Cosette, and the one my father tried to scam back at the Gorbeau tenement. It was so funny, because you just missed him!" Eponine said with a laugh, nudging Javert's arm.

"What did you say ... Cosette?" Fantine gasped. Eponine turned to look at her blankly.

"I'm not Cosette."

"So you ... you are Monsieur Madeleine?" Fantine continued, ignoring the girl and fixing her gaze on Valjean.

"Yes, yes he is." Javert bellowed, throwing his hands in the air. "The bane of my existance since Toulon!"

Fantine flicked her eyes away from Valjean momentarily. He looked, for his part, suitably awkward.

"You knew Monsieur Madeleine was in Paris, and did not think to tell me?" she spat. As sge began to argue heatedly with Javert, Eponine chose to sidle up to Valjean.

"So is Cosette really a big sissy these days, or is it just for show?"

The man looked at her, visibly taken aback.

"What?"

"Oh you know, she seems to be a proper damsel in distress, not tough like me. Does she actually have a back-bone?"

Before he could deride the girl for being so rude about his beloved adoptive daughter, Fantine threw herself down at his feet at the climax of her argument with Javert.

"You raised my daughter, Monsieur le Mayor ... I owe you everything I own." she said breathlessly, in the fashion of the Fantine from days gone by, but then paused to feel for her precious purse stuffed with francs. "Except this." she mumbled. Before anything else strange could occur (remember, he did not know Fantine in her destitute days) Courfeyrac waded in to put an end to the chaos.

"Everyone stop." he grunted, pulling Fantine up from the floor. "Someone summarise. Not you, Eponine."

Somehow, Fantine managed to speak before Javert could stick his oar in.

"This man helped me back when I was alive the first time round. He ... took me in, and raised my daughter Cosette after I ... Of course, I had no idea where he was when I re-emerged from the darkness. All I knew, through my recently established contacts was that Cosette is alive and well."

"I never knew you had a daughter ..." Courfeyrac said, raising a brow. "But all that doesn't explain why we're here with him now, with three of my former comrades out cold on the floor."

Valjean opened his mouth to do just that, when a pounding on the back wall made them all jump. It was followed by the snorting of the horses out the front.

"What was that?" Javert asked, trying to mask the alarm in his voice. Rather coolly, Valjean went over to the fireplace to poke at the meagre glowing embers.

"Looks as though you were followed." he said. "I would suggest that you move these three and hide yourselves in one of the back rooms."

"I do not take orders from you, 24 -" Javert attempted to protest, but Courfeyrac and Fantine were already dragging Grantaire through to the bedroom by his ankles.

"I am sure that you are eager not to end up behind bars again." Valjean said to the former Inspector, unable to resist sharing his knowledge of that particular incident. Before he could put up a defence, Javert was pushed into the bedroom where his friends had moved the three unconscious men. It was at that moment that the front door was knocked upon. When Valjean was sure that the bedroom was closed off by a convenient sliding panel, he hunched his back and made his voice quiver as he greeted the two figures at the door.

"Yes?" he asked aimiably. He recognised them as two of the students from the barricades, which was annoying seeing as he was trying to avoid recognition himself.

"Good evening, Monsieur." Feuilly said, tipping his hat. "We apologise for the time of our call, but we are conducting an important structural survey on this building. The landlords are concerned about the walls, and have asked us to carry out an investigation immediately in case of a collapse."

"Oh my!" Valjean said, pretending he believed them.

"We do not want to alarm you, Monsieur." Joly smiled reassuringly, raising his hands. "But we simply must examine the walls right away. If we may ..."

The two men stepped past Valjean into the main chamber of the abode, mock-examining the space as though they were actually qualified. As Feuilly ummed and ahhed, Joly let out a small exclaimation.

"Oh, forgive us, Mademoiselle, we didn't notice you there!"

Valjean froze up. Was the sliding panel door open, with one of the women and Lord knew what else visible to them? Stiffly, he turned on his heels to look at the damage. Eponine was sitting at his chipped table, her hands respectfully and demurely placed one on top of the other.

"It's fine. My uncle and I were about to have some supper."

"Supper ...?" Uncle Valjean croaked.

"Yes, would you care to join us?" the girl asked their unwelcome guests as pleasantly as she could.

"Lovely!" Joly said, sitting down opposite her. Feuilly nodded and placed himself on the rickety chair adjacent to his colleague. There was nothing for Valjean to do but go along with the charade, so he sat down also.

"Now then." Feuilly said as Joly pulled out a pencil and some parchment. "We just need to ask you some basic questions for the survey."

"All right." the old man said, whilst wondering if he should appear more cantankerous.

"Please state the names of all residents in this ... home."

"... names of everyone?"

"Yes, please."

"Well, I am Jean Madeleine." Valjean said slowly. "And this is ..."

"Madeleine."

They all looked at Eponine curiously.

"So your name is ... Madeleine Madeleine."

"Yes." she chirped.

"Anyone else?" Feuilly gulped.

"My brother, his wife and son, older brother of my neice here." Valjean jumped in ahead of Eponine. "They're all currently working in the textile factory down the road."

"And don't forget my little brother! He works too. I don't have to because I go to school. I'm the clever one." Eponine said, beaming at them with her crooked teeth.

"Names, please?"

"Philippe and Marie Madeleine. The oldest son is Alain, the younger is ..."

"Archaimbaud." Eponine cut in.

As Joly scribbled these details down with a very concentrated expression on his face, Valjean glowered at his temporary niece.

"My mother liked slushy romance stories when we owned the inn, and that was a common name for the dashing hero." she whispered almost inaudibly to him. Valjean supposed that made sense as to how she had come by her own unusual name.

"How long have you all lived here?" Feuilly resumed his line of questioning.

"Oh, give or take five years."

As a stream of similarly mundane queries ensued, Eponine busied herself preparing the promised supper with tuneless humming. The two visitors were unable to hide their shocked expressions as she served them the humble meal on mismatched, broken crockery.

"What kind of biscuits are these?" Feuilly asked kindly.

"It's bread." he was told firmly by the girl.

"Ohhh ... and this cheese?" Joly said cautiously, about to have palpatations. Eponine sighed with aggrievation.

"No, that's butter. Honestly!"

While Joly squirmed in his seat, Feuilly bravely smiled his way through a few modest mouthfuls of the positively ancient food.

"Now, we must do a physical inspection on the property." he said when he could take no more.

"Must you?" Valjean asked pleasantly. "It all seems safe enough to me. We never hear any creaks or see any cracks on the walls or ceiling."

"That, Monsieur, is why they called in the professionals." Feuilly smirked. Before he could rise from his seat, however, a boy barged his way in through the front door. He stood with his legs far apart, defiantly, his mouth set in a firm line.

"Ah! It's my young nephew, Arch ..." Valjean said, looking to Eponine for support.

"Archaimbaud!" she cried out, jumping up to take the boy's hand.

"What is all this?" Gavroche said in a rather uppity tone, his eyes flicking between his estranged sister, the two ex-students, and their inedible meal.

"These nice gentlemen are here to conduct a survey on the building." the older man exclaimed, as though talking to a toddler.

"Please excuse us ..." Feuilly murmured, yanking Joly from his seat and pulling him over to the sliding door.

"Wait! You can't go in there." Eponine screeched, rushing over to blockade the door with her small body.

"Why not?" wheezed the sickly-green Joly, who was still traumatised by his near escape from food poisoning.

"Rats. Uh yes, infested with rats!"

"We can handle a few rodents." Feuilly said.

"Lice are running all over the floor. It stinks to high heaven. You could catch scabies."

"What?" Joly screamed, grabbing onto his colleague.

"She's right." Gavroche said coolly, sliding up beside his sister. "That's why I'd rather sleep in the gutter outside than in there. I nearly died from scarlet fever last time I spent the night in that room."

"By all means, check the walls in here and the other room ... the latrine." Valjean suggested cheerfully. Having heard enough inane protestations, Feuilly picked Eponine up by her shoulders and moved her aside, nodding for Jolh to do the same for Gavroche (they had not recognised him due to the low brim of his cap and his slightly more mature voice).

"Listen, we came here to do a job, and by golly we'll do it!"

With an almightly tug, Feuilly pulled back the sliding door amidst cries of indignation and protest and immediately gaped at the sight that greeted his unprepared eyes.


End file.
